#then i spelled a companys name wrong in the second email

[yunogf]

struggling to stay afloat <3

[fuck-customers]

Kind of a fuck customers but also a satisfying story at the same time.

My role in the call center I work in involves taking specifically corporate calls, which means I spend all day talking to “business professionals” (and I use that term loosely) including CEOs. As you can imagine, over 90% of these CEOs are the scum of the earth and the most entitled assfaces on the planet.

A week or so ago, I took a call and went through my usual routine of greeting the cardholder and then began going over verification questions. Since we’re A.) a bank and B.) a bank that handles corporate and government credit cards, we take security seriously and require a caller to be able to verify 3 pieces of information based on what the person responsible for their credit cards put on the account. If they don’t pass, we refer them to their company to get the right details.

So as I’m doing this, the guy on the phone is getting increasingly irritated as he keeps getting the security questions wrong. I’m calm and professional the entire time but firm. Eventually I run out of things to verify with him and tell him that we won’t be able to assist and that he needs to contact his administrator. This is apparently where I went wrong.

“LADY I AM THE ADMINISTRATOR!!” He screeches. Ok, great. I look him up and that’s true but there’s a second admin listed, so I ask him to check in with him. He then yells “THERE IS NO OTHER ADMIN! I’M THE CEO OF THIS COMPANY FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!!”

I apologize and tell him while that may be true, he still got his security questions wrong and needs to reach out to his account coordinator then. This man then proceeds to scream at me for the next minute or so saying how we’re an awful bank, how he’s had problems with us for years, blah blah and how we have the worst customer service ever. Keep in mind, I’ve been nice and empathetic this entire time but also I’m not gonna lose my fucking job just because a guy in a suit doesn’t know his shit. I give him the email to his account coordinator and stress again that he needs to talk to them. Then this exchange happens:

Him: “So let me get this straight. You are saying you are REFUSING and UNWILLING to help me, right?

Me: “No, actually I’d love to help you, however we have these security procedures in place for yours and your company’s protection and cannot make exceptions for anyone.”

Him: “This is fucking UNBELIEVABLE! I’ve HAD IT with this bank!!”

Me: “Ok, I’m sorry to hear that. Anything else I can do for you before we disconnect?”

Him: “WHAT IS YOUR NAME? I NEED YOUR NAME. NOW.”

Me: *gives my first name and spells it for him even though it’s a very basic 4 letter name because I’m a bitch*

Him: YOUR LAST NAME.

Me: “We don’t give out anything but our first name for the safety of our employees.”

Him: *insert that condescending, pissed off chuckle middle aged men do when they’re mad here* “Well I’ll tell you what (My Name), when I close this account and pull my MILLIONS OF DOLLARS out of (bank name) and they ask me why, I’ll make sure to tell them that it’s (My Name)’s fault. And I will see to it that you won’t be able to get another job outside of the minimum wage fast food job or whatever you had before this. How does that sound?”

Me: “Sounds great. Now seeing as how this conversation is no longer productive or professional and threats are being made, I’ll be terminating the call, have a nice day.”

Him: “DO NOT HANG UP O-“

Me: *click*

And that’s how making rich, powerful men rage-cry became my new favorite hobby. Thankfully, I haven’t gotten any feedback on that call; not that I would, seeing as how I did my job exactly how I was supposed to. Anyways I hope I’m his 13th reason. ❤️

Posted by admin Rodney.

[pipsipey17]

it's part of the job | chapter 1: i put a spell on you.

ceo!dom!natasha romanoff x assistant!bot!fem!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist

summary: natasha becomes smitten with you much to your liking but you knew it was wrong, you hated being a mistress but you love the intimacy she gives you.

chapter warnings: none as of now :>

next chapter

You’re working as a part time assistant for almost two months now at a very known company named, ‘The Outset’ owned by the famous Natasha Romanoff whom you have quite the little crush on, but unfortunately for you, she’s already married to a woman named Wanda Maximoff. 

As much as you hate to admit it, you wouldn’t stop fantasizing about the woman, she is your type after all. You just love everything about her, especially her being a dominant and elegant woman.

“Enter.” You heard your boss say after you knocked on the door. 

You opened the door and you immediately said, “Mrs. Romanoff, the administration asks you to sign these.” you then placed a stack of papers on her desk.

Natasha hummed in response and then asked, “Anything else?” her eyes looking at your eyes directly as you stood in front her desk. 

“You have a meeting with Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark at 2pm, but other than that, there’s nothing else.” you replied to her but you saw that her eyes left yours, you followed her eyes and saw that she was looking at your sort of exposed chest because of the few undone buttons of your blouse.  

You quickly fixed the buttons which made your boss look into your eyes again, “Right, since Meg isn’t here today until next week you’ll be the one accompanying me to my meetings.” Natasha said and you replied, “Will do, Mrs. Romanoff.” 

You turned around and started to walk out of her office but then you heard her say, “Don’t be late, kotenok.”

Again with that fucking nickname.

It stopped you from your tracks for a few seconds but you immediately came back to your senses and walked out of her office. 

You got back to your desk and started answering numerous emails as well as phone calls. Your mind then wandered off to Natasha Romanoff, aka your boss. 

Your boss is quite a nice person, though many of your coworkers feared her due to her being a strict and intimidating boss, but she is one of the nicest people you met, which is also one of the reasons why you have a crush on her. The example being that when Meg informed Natasha that her final exams are coming up, Natasha allowed your cousin to take a two week leave so that she can study for her final exams.  

Your thoughts then wandered to the endearments that Natasha would call you.

“Malyshka”

“Detka”

“Dorogoya”

“Kotenok”

The weird thing is that she doesn’t call others those endearments, not even your cousin, only you. But you don’t understand the Russian language so it just leaves to wonder what those endearments meant. 

You then realized that she started calling you those certain nicknames when the both of you had a little talk while doing some paperwork a few weeks back.

~~~

“Anyone special in your life Y/n?” You suddenly heard your boss ask you seemingly just to have some type of conversation as the both of you were doing some paperwork. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Romanoff.” you said trying to clarify what she meant. 

“You know, like a boyfriend.” Natasha said as she looked at you curiously.

“O-Oh, well… I’m actually not interested in men.” You replied.

“Interesting, so you’re a lesbian?” Natasha asked and you nodded in response, “Any girlfriend then?” she added. 

“Nope, none as well.” You replied as you finished organizing some documents, “Don’t you have a wife, Mrs. Romanoff?” it was your turn to ask her.  

Natasha hummed, “It’s not really a secret to the world that I have a wife so yes, I indeed have a wife.” 

You don’t know where your courage came from but you asked her, “Do you love her?” 

There was a brief pause, “Of course I do.” she replied with a smile.

You sensed it, you sensed her hesitation but you just went with the flow and smiled at her, “That’s good to hear.”  

After that day, she started to call you those nicknames, “Detka” was the first one you heard her call you, then as the days went by, the other endearments followed.  

You didn’t hate it when she called you those nicknames, quite the opposite, you liked it when she called you those nicknames but you somehow feel like there’s something to those nicknames.

~~~

“Natasha, so good to see you again.” Tony Stark greeted as he entered the meeting room. 

“Likewise Tony.” Natasha simply replied then Tony took his seat across Natasha and you. 

“Good afternoon, Romanoff, L/N.” Steve greeted as he took his seat across from you and Natasha.

“Good afternoon to you too Steve.” Natasha greeted back.

“Who’s this new chick? And how come Rogers already met her.” Tony suddenly asked as he looked at you.  

“This is Y/N, she’s my new assistant. Rogers has already met her since she was in our last meeting.” Natasha replied.

“So, are you single?” Tony asked, then he wiggled his eyebrows at you making you a bit annoyed by his behavior.

“Tony!” Natasha scolded, “No funny business, she’s off limits.” she continued. 

Her sudden possessiveness sort of turned you on, even though you knew that she did it only to protect you.

Natasha cleared her throat and said, “Let’s just proceed with the meeting, I still have a lot of things to do.”

As the meeting went on, you felt that Natasha’s hand went to your thigh, but from time to time she would move her hand almost as if she’s caressing your thigh and it made you a flustering mess. 

The meeting was over and you were now back in your boss’ office. 

“I’m sorry about Tony earlier, he’s just like that sometimes.” Natasha said as she was signing some papers. 

“It’s fine Mrs. Romanoff, I’m already used to it.” You replied as you continued to staple and gather some documents that the administration asked for as well. 

Natasha smiled and said, “I told you that you can call me Natasha when we’re alone, detka.” she then looked at you as you fixed the stacks of papers across from her. You always looked so gorgeous in her eyes when you would concentrate on working. 

“Right, I’m sorry, it has just been a habit of mine.” You said to her apologetically, continuing to look at your work. But once you were done fixing the papers, you looked at the woman across from you, your eyes already met hers, you then realized that she was already looking at you. 

Your eyes flickered to her lips but immediately went back to her eyes realizing what you just did, you saw her smirk a little it made your cheeks heat up, “A-are you done with signing the papers, Mrs- I mean- Natasha?” You stammered. 

“Yes.” She simply replied as she slipped the papers towards you not breaking eye contact with you.

“Thank you, I’ll be giving these to the administration now.” You said and then started walking out of her office. 

As you were about to open the door, the door suddenly opened and you saw Wanda, your boss’ wife, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Maximoff.” You greeted her with a fake smile, because everytime Wanda visited the office it just made you feel on edge. 

“Honey, what are you doing here?” you heard Natasha ask as she stood up from her seat.

“Why? Can’t I visit my lovely wife?” Wanda teased as she approached Natasha and kissed her on the lips. A bit of disgust and jealousy started setting in within you. You immediately left the office without saying another word.

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - August 8th

Happy Sunday!! Here’s what I’ve been reading this week. As always, leave your fic authors some love if you read and enjoy their stories! 

**Indicates my recent favs 

~*~ 

Turn around three times by ladyshadowdrake (Capwolf/20k) 

Tony and Steve take a tumble through a portal of inky darkness. When they wake up, they're not exactly feeling like themselves.

***Senseless by Scavenge4Dreams (Hurt Comfort/16k) 

Blinded, deafened, exhausted, injured and afraid, Tony raised himself up into a defensive position, the knife coming up just like Nat had taught him.

“That had better fucking be you, Steve Rogers- it had better be you. Fucking disarm me. If you let me kill you, I swear I will be very, very pissed.” Tony snarled, sure it was Steve approaching. Had to be. Had. To. Be.

What if it wasn’t?

Right up the road by gottalovev (Capwolf/17k) 

The day at the senate committee in Washington DC wasn't supposed to end with Tony and Steve transformed into animals by a baby witch. That said, the 350 miles trek back to the compound to get help promises to be quite an adventure too!

(or the adventures of Cat!Tony and Wolf!Steve - and how to readjust when you're back to human!)

***The love spell by Annie D (scaramouche) (Love Spell/17k) 

Tony wakes up in love with Steve. This is an alarming turn of events, because he wasn’t in love with Steve when he fell asleep the night before. That said, it’s sort of nice? To be in love? He’s enjoying it, anyway.

***Citation Needed by elwenyere, FestiveFerret (Professor AU/30K)

Historian Tony Stark has one year to get his book about WWII weapons technology under contract before he goes up for Full Professor at Stanley College. There's only one chapter left to finish, which is supposed to explain Peggy Carter's involvement with something called "Project Rebirth," but there are two problems: his trail of evidence goes cold every time he encounters references to an enigmatic soldier named Steven Rogers, and his stress levels shoot through the roof every time he runs into the endlessly frustrating new hire in Fine Arts, Dr. Grant.

***All Time Low by Sineala (616/12k) 

Tony's lost his company to Obadiah Stane. He's lost it all: his money, his friends, his Avengers team... and his sobriety. Drunk, homeless, Tony is living on the streets, and when he runs out of liquor money, he sells the only thing he has left: his body. And one day, he has the exact wrong customer.

***Not the Only Living Boy in New York by Essie (Getting Together/25k) 

Everyone has a number of names written on their bodies from birth. Steve has three: Margaret Carter, James Barnes and Anthony Stark. After Steve loses two of his soulmates he's not ready to meet his third. If wishes were horses huh?

Includes texting, movie watching a solid amount of pining and a little kicking HYDRA's butt.

Computer Love by ceealaina (PWP/6K) 

A spam email and a misunderstanding from Steve lead to him accidentally revealing something very surprising.

*

“Well, I don’t know, Tony,” Steve snapped back, once again opening his mouth without thinking. “You’ve got a robot butler, alright? Someone secretly taping me jerking off to Iron Man porn could definitely happen.”

For a moment, Steve didn’t even realize what he’d said, glaring mutinously down at the email. But Tony’s lack of a snappy response grew suspicious, and Steve looked up to find Tony staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes, mouth hanging open.

“I’m sorry. You jerk off to what now?”

I cannot walk on water by izazov (PWP/26k) 

Steve doesn't think about having sex with Tony Stark. He certainly doesn't plan for it. It happens anyway.

***If we never got this second chance by  Pookaseraph (Time Travel Kidfic/50k) 

When Tony and Steve’s son from the future, Jake Jensen, arrives at Avenger’s Tower, the two of them are forced to confront some hard truths: Tony that he might not actually become a horrible father, and Steve that he might not be able to set aside his discomfort with sharing a child with another man. When they both get a second chance at a first try at fatherhood, it’s up to the two of them to learn from their own future's past.

When I think about you by sirona (5+1 fic/11k) 

Five times someone saw Steve sass the hell out of Tony and one time Tony finally bought a clue. Also known as the story of Captain Sasspants more than handling his own with Tony Stark at his most devious.

***Thunderbolt City by  sirona (Getting Together/6k) 

It's competely unfair that the one time the whole thunder-from-the-sky thing happens to Tony, it has to be for someone completely out of his league, who takes one look at him and decides he wants none of it, thanks.

Three Little Words; or, Five Times Steve and Tony Didn’t Actually Apologize + One Time They Did by elwenyere(Getting Together/11k) 

“First of all,” Tony said, “and I need everyone to hear this on multiple levels: how dare you?”

In the branching timeline, Thor has to restart Tony's heart, and Steve hears that Bucky is alive. Some things go differently, and some things stay the same. For starters, Steve and Tony are still terrible at saying those three little words.

Some Fires Worth keeping by starklystar (Doctor AU/14K) 

“Teamwork,” Steve hands the clipboard back, trying not to jerk his hand away when Stark’s rough fingers brush with his. “You’re thinking of teamwork.”

“Well, it takes two to tango, doesn’t it?”

“If you say so.”

“If I say so?”

“You’re, uh, you’re the doctor,” and Steve feels his own cheeks warm. A beat of silence, and he cautiously adds, “you know more about… bodies.”

-----------

Or, Tony is SHIELD Memorial's newest head of ER, and Steve is New York's best firefighter. Naturally, that means some pining happens, some injuries get healed, and some hearts get kept.

***Never Have I Ever by Cluegirl (Mission fic/136k) 

Tony Stark doesn't have a lot of 'first times' left, after the life he's lived, but it turns out that Steve Rogers is directly responsible for a surprising number of them.

[apocalypseornaw]

Forever

Two things survive the test of time. Love and family.

Word count: 4,865

Warnings: um spoilers for 15x20, talk of death, child birth and well more death? Enjoy?

You drew in a breath that made your lungs ache as you woke from a dream. For the briefest of moments you allowed yourself to believe that it was just a dream. You could feel the tears drying on your face and could taste his name on your lips begging him to not leave you. You gave yourself the luxury of believing even for just a few breaths that you would turn over and he would be asleep next to you. That the horror you’d been living in was a lie, a horrible facade. Maybe a Djinn had you somewhere draining you and he would come in and save you yet again. You could tell yourself all of that until you heard Miracle’s pitiful whine and felt him nudging at you.

You forced your eyes open to see that he had made his way onto the bed and was laying there staring at you. “I’m ok boy. C’mere”  he slowly crawled across the small space to lay his head on your stomach waiting for his ears to be scratched. “I know you miss him too” you whispered through the fresh tears that were once again flowing down your face. He was really gone. Dean was really dead.

------

You slowly walked down the hall of the bunker forcing your feet to carry you to the kitchen. You knew Sam would be in there. He had tried to keep his usual routine as a means of clinging onto sanity while the two of you mourned. You wanted to help him, he’d lost his big brother at the same time you’d lost your love but you had no idea how to offer him comfort when you couldn’t find your own. It had been a little over three weeks and every morning you still looked to the other side of the bed hoping it was all some sick cosmic joke.

When you walked into the room he glanced up from his laptop and gave you a small smile “Hey Y/N” you nodded on your way to the coffee pot “Morning Sam. Anything interesting going on?” Neither of you really had an interest in hunting at the moment. He’d gone a few days before to back Eileen on a haunting but it was more to see her than anything. 

You fixed your cup then walked back over to sit across from him about the time Miracle came into the room and laid down at your feet. He hadn’t left your side far and you were glad to have that company at night time. He turned the screen around to show you the email “The twins are having their second birthday so Garth sent pictures” you managed a weak smile at the photo of your friend with his little family. At least someone managed to get a happy ending of sorts. “They’re getting big we need to go visit” at your words Sam raised his eyebrows slightly “Sure. Any time you want” then a silence fell between the two of you.

After a moment he nodded towards the stove “I cooked some breakfast if you want to try to eat” you hadn’t had any semblance of an appetite but to make it where he’d worry a little less you walked over and placed a piece of toast, some eggs and a couple slices of bacon on your plate. 

You sat back down to eat and was on your second bite of eggs when a wave of nausea hit you. Sam must have realized something was wrong because he asked “They cooked ok? I scrambled them hard like you like” you nodded before plucking the toast off the plate then giving the rest to Miracle “Probably because I haven’t eaten a lot” he nodded but still watched you curiously “If you keep feeling bad you may need to go to the doctor. I can run you up to Sioux Falls and you can go to the hospital where Alex works” you nodded in agreement “If it gets worse I will, I promise” 

Once you finished the toast you stood to walk out “I’m gonna go grab a shower then we need to run to town. I haven’t seen the sunlight in a few days” “Sounds good to me”

Another two weeks passed and the nausea spurts started worsening along with dizzy spells. What forced Sam’s hand to make you go to the hospital was when you, him and Eileen were staying the weekend at Donna’s place and you’d ended up throwing up then fainting.

When you woke up you were in a hospital room with an iv running into you. You glanced around the room to see you were alone and panic hit you. Where was Sam or Eileen or Donna? You started to get out of the bed but the door to the room opened to Donna and Jody walking in. “No ma’am get your butt right back in that bed” Jody ordered and you calmed just seeing the two of them “Donna why’d you let Sam bring me here? I would’ve been ok”

She shook her head “When ya passed out on my bathroom floor it scared all of us” You groaned and pushed yourself up further in the bed being careful of the iv line “It’s fine. I haven’t been eating or sleeping the best in the world” Jody leveled you with a look “We’ll see what the doctor has to say until then you aren’t going anywhere” you knew better to argue so you sighed “Well where’s the doc?” “They drew blood and are waiting on the results to come back. This is your second bag of fluid” Jody explained and you grimaced only then realizing how little you’d been taking care of yourself “Where’s Sam and Eileen?” you asked quietly.

Jody patted your arm soothingly before saying “They went down to grab some coffee. They’ll be back soon” You hadn’t really cried in front of anyone but with Jody and Donna there you could feel the dam threatening to bust “I didn’t mean to scare anyone and I haven’t been purposely trying to hurt myself” “We know sweetie” Donna assured you with a smile.

------

You were sitting in the bed talking about the movie on the television screen with Donna and Jody when the door opened to Sam and Eileen. They both smiled at seeing you awake. “Told you two weeks ago you needed a doctor” Sam chastised so you rolled your eyes “Good for you” it fell from your lips before the memory of an almost exact argument between him and Dean hit you causing a small smile to slip onto your face.

“The doctor will be in soon” Eileen promised before walking over to the bed and motioning for you to scoot over. You clicked the closed captioning for the movie as she asked what it was about.

Not even ten minutes passed before a doctor walked into the room “Mrs Smith I see you’re up” you nodded “Feeling better doc” he smiled “That’s good news. I got your test results back” “Well what’s the verdict?” Jody asked which made the doctor look around the room “I feel I already know the answer to this but I have to ask are you ok with me talking about it in front of everyone here?” “Of course” you replied so he smiled almost sadly which made your stomach flip. Was something wrong with you?

“Your brother-in-law here tells me you lost your husband a little over a month ago?” you weren’t sure why he was asking about Dean but you nodded slowly “Yes it was really sudden and unexpected” he nodded then looked back at the paper in his hands then back up at you “Mrs Smith I’m not really sure how to say this without just saying it so you’re about eight weeks pregnant” “What?” you asked automatically.

You could vaguely register Sam and Eileen speaking to you and even Jody touching your cheek but you were lost in your own head. You were pregnant. A harsh wave of nausea hit you and you nearly fell over Eileen trying to get out of the bed to the bathroom ripping the iv line out in the process.

------

The doctor left to give you some time to process. You were sitting on the bathroom floor holding the gauze Donna had given you to where the iv had pulled from. What were you supposed to do? How the hell could you raise a kid?

You heard a knock at the door and knew it was Sam without looking “Come on in Sam” you heard his boots walk across the floor before he crouched down into your line of view “Look at me Y/N” you slowly met his eyes and he smiled “I’ll support you whatever you decide” 

You busted out crying which caused him to pull you into a hug. You sobbed against his chest “He should be here Sam. It was a simple hunt. A damn nest. He survived so much for that to be his end. Now I’m pregnant and he’s gonna have a child wandering the earth and he’s not here to help me raise the baby. He’s not here to teach them how to be brave and selfless and loving and strong” he rubbed a hand across your back attempting to soothe you “I promise you won’t be alone” you leaned back to look up into his eyes “Will you teach them Sam? Everything Dean would’ve please?” you could see the tears in his eyes as he nodded “Yes I will. I’ll teach them everything he taught me” you laid your head back against his chest then placed a hand on your stomach.

You woke up to what you guessed was a foot playing kickball with your kidneys "Jesus christ kid you've got some leg strength" you grumbled attempting to get out of bed so you could head to the bathroom.

Miracle sat patiently next to the bed watching as you struggled with your growing belly. You were afraid the kid was going to end up getting his uncle's height because it felt like you were already running out of room and weren't but six months along.

You waddled yes waddled because there was no other way to describe your walk down the hall to the bathroom. You were hoping Sam nor Eileen was awake or either of them would be out in the hall asking if you were ok. You appreciated the concern but in the last few weeks the bunker had been busier than ever with the Sioux Falls crew dropping in routinely and even Garth making some trips through.

Sam was back doing some halfway legal work and had been investing and playing with real estate from the funds Charlie had set up all of you years ago. You knew his intention was to buy an actual house so the baby wouldn't grow up in the bunker at least not completely. You found it endearing how excited he and Eileen both were even if it still made your heart ache at times seeing how happy they were together. 

Once you finished in the bathroom you headed back to your room. The bunker was silent as your bare feet hit the floor. In fact the only noise your ears could register was the sound of Miracle’s nails on the hard floor. A hard kick made your breath catch in your throat. The kid was already strong. He was definitely his father’s child “Shh I hear you lil dude I hear you” you whispered rubbing the spot where he’d kicked in hopes maybe you could talk him into sleeping just a little more.

Once you got to the room you called Miracle up on the bed with you. He curled up next to you and stuck his nose to the side of your stomach. You couldn’t help but laugh at the surprised look on the dog’s face when your baby boy decided to run his foot across the inside of your stomach effectively moving Miracle’s nose. “Don’t look at me. That’s all him” you assured Miracle with a small laugh. The baby kicked again but gentler this time “Thank you. Mommy needs her internal organs intact please no hunts have ever taken them out it’d be a shame if you did”

You sat there for a few minutes with your head leaned back not really trying to go to sleep but letting your mind fill with all the thoughts you tried so hard to keep pushed out during the day. If only you’d figured out you were pregnant sooner maybe Dean would’ve passed that case onto someone else. If you would’ve moved just a little faster maybe you could’ve knocked him out the path of that piece of rebar. You took a deep breath trying to calm your mind at least enough that it wouldn’t make the baby get agitated. 

You ran your hand across your stomach slowly and smiled when he followed it. “God your daddy would’ve loved to be here…” your thoughts trailed off to the day the three of you had met the twins. The way Dean had watched you with Sam Jr. The smile he’d had when you’d successfully put both boys down for a nap without having to tag Garth or Bess in. The joking later about how great of a mother you’d be one day and the way you’d balked at the idea stating simply that years of cleaning up your friends when they were drunk was why you had no problem putting irate people to bed.

“He raised your uncle Sam pretty much… even though he was only four years older than him..” you weren’t sure if you were speaking to the baby or just to yourself. You hadn’t allowed yourself time to speak aloud about Dean for fear of breaking down.

“When I met him I was in a bad place..I didn’t want to love myself let alone think anyone would ever love me. As for your daddy well he never thought he was good enough but that’s a story for when you’re older. We both fought against falling in love with each other for so long until one day we were arguing after a hunt. I’d got tossed around pretty good but so had him and your uncle Sam so I didn’t know why he was so angry until he’d blurted out that he was in love with me”

You stopped to take a shaking breath before continuing “Baby boy just know your daddy and I loved each other deeply. I have fought at his and your uncle Sam’s side since I met them. Your daddy was an amazing man. He was brave and strong and selfless. He died to save the world more than once. When he died and didn’t get to come back it was to save two little boys but please know he would have done anything to be here with you. No matter what happens you’ll never be alone because even if something happens to me you’ll have your uncle Sam and your aunt Eileen not to mention an entire army of amazing people that love me and that loved your daddy. You come from a strong bunch so I know you’ll be ok”

“Donna I’ve never been to a baby shower! What do I do?” you asked almost panicky while you followed her around the room as best as you could. You were two short weeks from your due date and she had finally managed to pinpoint a date most everyone she invited could make it and let’s just say when word got out the babyshower was for Dean’s child..well the presents were still spilling in. You had stock of everything from onesie flannels to a custom portable crib that had protection sigils embroidered. “You’re the mom! All you do is look pretty and thank everyone for the presents” she laughed.

You nodded and ran a hand over your stomach “If he gets any bigger I’m going to run out of room in there” she laughed and held her hand out “Can I?” “Of course Donna” she placed her hand on your stomach and smiled when the baby moved against it “Have you decided on a name?” she asked and you nodded with a small smile “Yeah I think I have” she cut her eyes up at you expectedly “Gonna tell me now or wait until everyone gets here?” you laughed “Dean Henry Winchester” her smile grew wider even if you could see tears glistening in her eyes “That’s perfect”

------

A couple hours later the party was in full swing. You had to say it for everyone you called friends they didn’t let something like no alcohol inhibit their ability to have a good time. You’d gotten so much stuff for Dean Jr the house Sam and Eileen had bought would be supplied along with the bunker. 

When Claire and Kaia came in Claire smiled at Kaia then gave her a light push towards you “Give it to her. She’ll love it” it was then you noticed the gift bag in Kaia’s hand “Y/N I wanted to make something for the baby and um Jody says blankets are good so um here” she held the bag out so you took it with a smile “Thank you Kaia!” you moved the tissue paper out of the bag and gasped when you saw the blanket.

It was nearly the exact shade of green as Dean’s eyes and held black details on it. Once you unfolded it you realized there were protection sigils knitted around the blanket in black. “It’s beautiful” you whispered, standing to pull both girls into a hug. Claire smiled then teased “I’m glad you like it because we went to fourteen stores to find yarn the right shade of green” she then glanced towards your stomach “Jody says you picked Dean Henry for his name?” you nodded “Do you like it?” she smiled “Yeah I do” about that time a hard kick made you flinch. 

“Are you ok?” they asked in unison so you laughed “Yeah girls I’m ok. Dean Jr is just like his daddy when he’s getting talked about he wants to be included in the conversation” “Can I?” Claire asked so you placed her hand on one foot then asked Kaia “You want to feel?” she nodded so you placed her hand on the other foot. You could see the amazement in their eyes “He’s strong already” Claire said with a smile and Kaia nodded “It feels so weird but so cool too” “And you’re feeling it from the outside” you added with a wink.

“One final push and he’ll be out” the nurse told you excitedly. Eileen and Jody had gone into the delivery room with you. Eileen for moral support and Jody because for one she’d delivered a child before and because she would be basically Dean Jr’s grandmother figure.

“You got this” Eileen assured you with a smile. You scooted further down the bed and took a deep breath before pushing hard. You felt a pressure like a truck was parked on your lower abdomen before the sounds of a shrill scream filled the room.

“Congratulations it’s a healthy baby boy” the nurse was cleaning him up while Jody wiped your forehead with a cloth “You did amazing. Dean would’ve been so proud of you” you smiled at her as the nurse walked over “Here’s your baby boy mommy”  

When she placed the tiny bundle in your arms you couldn’t believe your eyes. You’d done it. You’d bought Dean’s son into the world. “Hey little dude recognize my voice?” you whispered and he started squirming against you. “Dean Henry Winchester welcome to the world”

------

After a few hours worth of everyone in and out Jody managed to talk the nurses on the floor into letting both Eileen and Sam stay with you. Once all other family and friends had cleared out the three of you were sitting in the room marveling over little Dean.

You’d taken a shower with a nurse’s assistance and was sitting up in the bed watching Sam feed Dean Jr his bottle. “I need to speak to you both” ensuring Eileen was looking at you as you spoke. “Something wrong Y/N?” Sam asked so you shook your head then nodded at the baby in his arms “I want to draw up something official so if anything was to happen to me he becomes yours. I’m asking will you two be his backup parents basically”

Sam scrunched his nose up at your wording but said “Maybe word it slightly better but we’d be honored” “We will love him like he’s our own but nothing’s happening to you anytime soon” Eileen added with a grin plucking the baby from Sam’s arms “My turn”

“DEAN HENRY WINCHESTER GET BACK HERE!” you laughed chasing the giggling and crawling baby through the house. He had just turned eight months and had apparently inherited Dean’s running speed if his crawl was any indication.

Sam came around the corner about them and scooped him up “I hear your mom chasing you little man. Did you escape another diaper change” you held up the wipes in your hand “You guessed right uncle Sam. Wanna help me out here so I can finish up the laundry?” he nodded and took the wipes and diaper from your hand then disappeared into Dean’s room talking to the baby as if it was a full blown two sided conversation.

The last two years of your life had been intense to say the least. With losing Dean then having Dean Jr and then you, Sam and Eileen basically all three becoming parents. It was a lot. There wasn’t a day you didn’t miss Dean but you were moving forward. “Where’s Eileen?” you asked walking towards the laundry room and heard Sam’s muffled answer of “Went to grab more groceries” 

“Don’t forget we have the picnic at Garth’s this weekend then Jody insists on what she calls a family reunion next weekend” you reminded and jumped slightly when Sam answered from behind you “I know and by the way I had to yet again remind Rowena that a hellhound puppy is not an appropriate present to send for Dean’s first birthday” “Both of you bite your tongues I still have four whole months before my baby will be one” you laughed which in turn made Dean start giggling “Yeah see he agrees with me” 

“Shouldn’t Y/N be home by now?” Eileen asked Sam after making her third trip to the window to look out. “She’ll be ok baby. She can handle pretty much anything” about the time the words left Sam’s mouth his phone started to ring. 

Eileen felt her stomach flip when she read his lips “This is Mr Smith..Yeah Y/N is my sister in law” she missed the rest of the conversation but when Sam hung up he looked almost as upset as when he’d told her about Dean. “That was..the state police”

“What happened?” She asked already feeling panic sit in “Y/N was in a wreck..a drunk driver hit her” Eileen glanced towards the hall where she knew Dean Jr was sleeping “Ok what hospital is she in?” when she looked back at Sam she felt her knees weaken and knew the answer even before he said “She didn’t make it into the ambulance”

One minute you were headed home then you saw a bright set of headlights skidding towards you. You couldn’t even remember the wreck. Everything went black.

When you came back to yourself you realized the sun was shining overhead. Wait sun? It had been seven at night and where was the car? You slowly turned around in a small circle and realized you were in a field. You tried to concentrate on what exactly had happened but you were so disoriented.

You closed your eyes and the flash of the truck hitting you played through your mind. It was an instant of pain then nothing. Your eyes flew open when the realization set in. You hadn’t survived the wreck. You took a deep breath and froze when the sound of a familiar engine met your ears. You’d know the sound of that car anywhere.

You slowly turned to see baby not ten yards from you. You watched as the car came to a stop and the driver side door opened. You were frozen for a few breaths looking into his eyes. “Dean” you whispered his name before running at him. He met you halfway scooping you up into his arms. 

The two of you stood there in each other’s embrace simply holding each other. “I’m in heaven” you guessed quietly and he laughed “Of course. There was no doubt you’d make it here” you pulled back to look up at him “I missed you so much” he smiled “I missed you too sweetheart, wish it would’ve been a little longer until you got here” “We have a son” you spoke in a small voice and he nodded “I know. He’s perfect and I am so sorry I wasn’t there for him” 

“Now I won’t be either” you were torn because no matter how overjoyed you were to be in Dean’s arms you were saddened at the fact that Dean Jr was now without both of you. “Sam will take care of him baby.  You know he will” you nodded slowly “Can we still see him?”  he smiled “Yeah a lot has changed up here. Want to go see Bobby and Charlie?” “Can I have a kiss first?” you asked and he laughed a sound you hadn’t heard in so long. “You never have to ask that. C’mere I’ve been waiting to be able to kiss you again” he pulled you into a kiss full of all the moments the two of you had lost together and the promise of forever.

When you pulled away he leaned over to press a kiss to your neck “I love you Y/N” you laid your head over on his chest and closed your eyes just for a moment before looking back up at him “I love you too Dean, now let’s go see everyone”

“Ok buddy what bedtime story do you want tonight?” Sam asked Dean Jr after tucking him into bed. “Dad, will you tell me the story of how my mommy and daddy met?” Sam smiled “I sure will” he pulled the blanket up around Dean Jr then set into telling him how you and Dean had met or well the version suitable for a seven year old.

Eileen watched from the door with a smile. Tomorrow she’d tell them both Dean Jr was having a little sister and she’d already picked the first name to be Y/N but for tonight she’d enjoy her boys.

[annkdarar]

The Little Things You Do

Turns out Anders isn't that much of an asshole after all...

Words Count : 1,839

Pairing : Anders Johnson x Fem!Reader

Warning : NSFW→Mentions of sex, brief mentions of period sex, menstrual cycles, sex jokes (ofc)

Author's Note : This is my very first Anders fic and I'm so nervous I'm literally SWEATING. I hope you guys will like it.

Also thanks @laurfilijames for proof reading this. You're the best!

The office was still plunged in darkness when you came in. It was no surprise, really, for Anders was always late. There wasn’t much that the man actually cared about, and sometimes you wondered if his company was even one of those things. 

You turned the light on, revealing a pretty much empty room, and you walked over to your desk with an exasperated sigh. There were still a ton of things left to do, emails to be sent and names to research. And many other things Anders was too lazy to do himself that you had been assigned to do.

As you sat down, you felt the faintest pain in your lower stomach, causing you to frown. Of course, that very morning, you had been graced by mother nature’s monthly visit. If only it could have waited until the next day when you wouldn’t have had a million things to do. 

Ignoring the upcoming pain, you turned on your computer and got to work, which was easier said than done. With each passing minute, the pain became stronger, heavier, more intense, and you had to stop every now and then to take a breath. You forced yourself to focus on the too-bright screen, typing endless courtesies to men and women who wouldn’t even work longer than a month with you due to your boss’ unnerving and arrogant behavior.  

To say the man was an asshole would be the understatement of the year. Yet, you were fond of him. Not only because of the occasional festivities you and him would partake in, in the privacy of his bed. No, that was just a bonus. Oh, you did want to punch him, quite often, but you also wanted to remind him to drink some water when it was really hot outside and not forget to get enough sleep. 

Another spark of pain pierced through your body and you closed your eyes, burying your face in your hands with a loud groan. The day was going to be long, extremely, and painfully long.

Caught up in your suffering, you didn’t hear the door opening. Or perhaps you did hear it but decided to ignore the loud steps that filled the room. You didn’t flinch when you felt a presence behind you, so close that the warmth of Anders’ chest spread through your back.

“Working hard, I see.” His hot breath crashed against your ear and you rolled your eyes, dropping your hands off your face. “Wanna know what else is hard?”

“Bearing with your existence?” You replied, turning around to look at him.

Somehow, he always looked professional with his white button-up shirt and black tie hanging from his neck. If you didn’t know him, you would say that he was a pretty respectable man. But that, he wasn’t.

He brought his hand to his heart with a pout, in a faked hurt expression. “Ouch. But no, I was thinking about something a bit more...Fun.”

“Not today.” You cut him off, spinning your chair to face the computer’s screen again. You read the email you had typed once more before hitting the send button and getting on to the next one. 

“Actually, I think today is a pretty good day.” He insisted, grabbing your shoulders. “What would you say about coming to mine later on tonight? Pick up where we left it last time?”

With an annoyed huff, you wiggled out of his grip. “I said not today, Anders. I’m on my period.”

“Nothing we haven’t done before.”

“Yeah, but today it hurts like hell.” You explained. “I’m not in the mood for sex. At this point, it will be an achievement if I even survive the entire day.” He snickered and mumbled something you couldn’t understand as he walked away. 

The first half of your day went...okay. The pain was strong, but nothing you couldn’t handle. It was around lunch break that it got worse. The pain had gotten into your lower back, causing you to wiggle in your chair in an attempt to find a comfortable position. The food you had brought along didn’t look appetizing anymore, and you picked at it without eating anything.

You thought the pain had reached its peak but oh, how wrong had you been. You began to feel nauseous, and soon enough, you find yourself running into the bathroom to empty your stomach from what remained of your breakfast. Rinsing your mouth, you closed your eyes. You were exhausted, and there were still several hours to go before you could leave.

A knock on the bathroom door startled you and you almost choked on the water that filled your mouth. You spat it out in the sink and opened the door.

“You look terrible.” Anders pointed out. “How about you go home before you throw up everywhere and soil my floor, uh?” 

The thought of refusing his offer and staying to keep working crossed your mind. But you quickly nodded as another wave of pain washed over your body. Without another word, you grabbed your belongings and rushed out of the office. 

The ride home was equally terrible. Despite turning the heater on, you felt cold. And of course, the traffic was slow. Everything was against you today. At least, Anders had the decency to dismiss you, even if it was only to keep his floor clean.

“What an asshole…” You cursed. Was your anger towards him, the cars in front of yours, or the excruciating pain? You didn’t know. 

When finally, finally, you reached your apartment you almost fell down several times as you rushed in and exchanged your work clothes for a sweatshirt. And when your head hit your pillow, it was like a spell had been cast upon you, and you fell asleep almost immediately, your knees pressed to your chest.

The sound of your apartment door opening dragged you out of your sleep and you sat up abruptly. Inside your chest, your heart was pounding. You weren’t waiting for anyone to visit you. Panicked, your eyes scanned the room for your phone. It was nowhere in sight. You had probably left it in your car when you had rushed inside. If someone was breaking in, you wouldn’t be able to call for help.

“Someone there?”

The familiar voice made you sigh in relief and you flopped back down, one hand on your chest to try and slow your heartbeat. “Bedroom!” you yelled. 

After a  few seconds, your bedroom door was pushed open and the light turned on, causing you to close your eyes. 

“You could’ve taken your clothes off, now I’ll have to do it myself. Not that I mind of course.” The bed dipped under his weight as he came to rest above you, his elbows supporting his weight on each side of your head. 

“I told you I wasn’t in the mood for sex.” You groaned, pushing at his chest. He moved to lie next to you and you looked at him intently. “How’d you even get inside? You don’t have the key.”

“I don’t. But I saw your neighbor and kindly asked her to let me in.” He explained with a wink.

“Great, now that I know how may I know why you came here?” You asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I texted you in case you had changed your mind but you didn’t answer. So I came here. More questions or are we ready to go?”

“You fucking suck, Anders.” You said, turning your back to him. 

“No, that’s your job, darling.” He retorted, poking your ribs. You clicked your tongue and reached behind you to punch him, causing him to laugh. “Also, brought you this.”

Anders dropped something close to your stomach. Something hot and soft. You looked down at the hot water bottle and pulled it against your belly, its warmth spreading in the area. 

“You got me a hot water bottle?”

He hummed and scooted closer to you. He pushed your hair away from your neck and leaned down to press gentle kisses to the sensitive skin. You tilted your head to the side to give him better access and closed your eyes. Anders’ hand found its way on your hip and traveled down your body slowly. His fingertips brushed against the naked skin of your thighs and went back up.

“Anders, I swear to God if you even try to go anywhere near my underwear, I’m chopping your dick off in the next twenty-four hours.” 

He groaned and pulled away. “You’re no fun, really. I came all the way here to take care of you and that’s how you treat me?”

“Why don’t you go out then? Find someone to replace me.” You said, bringing the blanket higher on your body.

Gentle, yet strong fingers grabbed your face and you were forced to look at him. His blue eyes were on yours, soft, but intimidating. Sometimes, he looked as if he was reading right through your soul, and you hated it.

“No one can ever replace you.” He said, his voice filling your ears with a pleasant buzz. “You understand that? No one.”

You nodded eagerly and he let go of you, a smirk painted on his lips. Hesitantly, you grabbed his arm and brought it around your waist, keeping his hand close to your chest.

“Stay?” You asked quietly, placing your head back onto your pillow. 

“Depends,” he said. “Can I touch your boobs?”

“Go away, you perv.” you groaned, pushing him away. He laughed again and dragged you against his chest.

“Ok, ok. Just kidding.” 

It was comfortable, to just lie down with him. You felt warm, and the pain was not as intense as before. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, but you wished it would happen more often. You were beginning to drift off to sleep again when he spoke.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked, putting his hand onto your stomach. You gave him a small nod and you felt his fingers digging slightly into the soft skin.

The moan you let out as he started to massage your belly gently could have been mistaken for one from an adult movie. It felt good, extremely and utterly good. You leaned closer to his chest, almost purring under his ministrations. This definitely soothed the pain.

“Oh, God, don’t stop.” you moaned, grabbing his wrist in case he was considering pulling away.

“The name’s Anders, but as you wish, darling.” he said jokingly, and you pinched him. Not harshly, of course. You were too tired to fight for real and you didn’t want to hurt him.

And now, it didn’t matter that he was the biggest asshole to ever walk the earth, nor that this was way more intimate than sex. At this moment, you felt safe, he made you feel safe. And good, oh so very good, as he massaged the pain away. And if he was still holding you the next morning when you woke up, well, neither of you mentioned it. Not yet.

[doof-doofblog]

"... Till There's Absolutely Nothing Left!"

Monday 28th September 2020

Good evening everyone! Hope you've all had an enjoyable weekend! As of today I will back being up to date with my blog posts. I'm looking forward to seeing what this week of episodes have in store! Let's not waste any time and jump right into it!

Tonight's episode started with Max still looking for Ian, Max is wanting to get his hands on his money, he's already fuming at Ian for dodging him and ignoring him. Ian has come up with excuses upon excuses to Max for not being able to get his money to him urgently. As Max leaves after having a word with Kathy, Ian is seen peering behind the door-frame, as if he's been hiding from Max, which we know he is - he's avoiding him like the plaque! Ian is such a weasel isn't he? Why doesn't he just grow a pair and admit to Max the truth, it's only a matter of truth before all his secrets come out!

Meanwhile, Gray and Karen are catching up at the club. Karen informs Gray that Mitch is currently sleeping at the salon as he's not welcome at the house for having doubts about Gray. Gray tries to ask Karen not to act harshly on Mitch, as everyone is still grieving for Chantelle. Karen can't believe he's sticking up for the man who's basically accused him of murder, it's then she turns to him and says "You're such a good man!" ... the only thing my brain is saying is "If only you knew Karen, if only you knew!" Ooooo I can't wait for Gray to be found out, it's going to be SO good when he finally gets seen for the murderer he truly is!

Oh yes! At the hospital, Denise is still watching over her biological son, Raymond. Ellie seems to be surprised that Denise is back visiting him, as they chat she informs him that Raymond made it through the night and he seems to be slowly recovering. Denise is visibly relieved, Ellie also seems surprised by her reaction. -  I'm not 100% sure what to make of Ellie, it's been revealed she's going to be a type of villain? I have my speculations about this current storyline, I'm really excited to see where it's going to go, but something tells me it'll be a battle of who gets custody of the young child. I think, perhaps, Denise will try and get Phil on side - if she tells him everything she knows about the adoptive family passing away, Phil will probably do the right thing and help Denise get custody of her son. But how is Phil going to act when he learns about Ellie and what will she do to get in their way? - Ellie asks Denise if she'd still like to help out and Denise insists that she'd love to, she's instructed by Ellie to get some new pyjamas for the young boy, Denise is only willing to do whatever she can for the boy so she goes off without hesitation. As she leaves, Ellie looks really suspicious - why would Denise want to help? Is she just being a good Samaritan? Or is there more to it? (Oooo I can't wait to see when Ellie finds out who Denise actually is!)

At the club, Mick walks in on Frankie taking pictures of Ollie, at first it seems only friendly and as if she's doing no harm, of course Mick is a little suspicious as Frankie barely knows the child. But it's when he grabs the camera without her looking and takes a look at the photo's, he realises there are quite a lot of photo's of Ollie that she's taken, plus also ones of other family members. When Frankie realises, she makes the excuse that it's Street Art Photography that she's doing. Mick does seem very uncomfortable at the fact that he's been photographed without his knowledge, he asks Frankie is kind of polite way to not to post them on social media and maybe to delete the images, mainly because Linda would feel uncomfortable about it. Frankie promises to do as he asks, but surely his mind must be racing? Who is this girl and why is she taking photos of him and his family?! I've heard some kind of rumour that perhaps Frankie could be Mick's secret daughter, but I'm not 100% sure whether to believe it's true, I mean, it could be - but who knows?!

In the cafe, Stuart is visibly excited to be marrying Rainie, both Callum and Ben are watching on as he's happily smiling as he's having a conversation on the phone with his future wife. I thought it was cute, personally, after so long of being such a dark character, Stuart is finally getting some happiness - and I think he bloody deserves it, as does Rainie! As they're saying their goodbyes on the phone, Ben makes a silly comment to Callum "A tenner says this marriage doesn't last as long as this goodbye!" - It's lovely seeing Stuart all smiley! When he finishes the call and turns to the boys he starts talking about how weird it feels, him getting married and then Callum moving in to the Mitchell's, it's then Ben says that he'll be a Mitchell now he's living under their roof! It's funny as all these one liners comes out, I'm thinking to myself, he's pretty much there now after what he's doing to Phil! As Stuart leaves after reminding Callum of his Best Man duties, Ben again makes a comment of Callum and his Dad being best mates, it seems as if Callum comes clean to his boyfriend, he reveals that he and Phil have been chatting a lot recently, plus he reveals the big news about Phil offering him a job to work on the family firm side of things, Ben is clearly surprised and perhaps confused to hear this news.

In the laundrette, Kathy and Bobby are picking up their clothes from Linda, I just want to say that I absolutely loved the moment when Linda couldn't remember where she had stored their dry-cleaning - B for Beale or C for Cathy, only for it to be under K for the correct spelling of Kathy! I don't know why, I just thought it was brilliant! As she finds the clothes, she overhears Kathy and Bobby talking about Ian's money problems, Kathy informs Bobby that Ian needs this new contract otherwise he wont be able to pay Max back! Linda knows the situation regarding Max and his money, is she going to do the right thing and tell Max? He deserves to know what's happening and what's happened with his share of the restaurant. I kind of hope she does.

Back at Ruby's, Denise and Jack are catching up. He questions Denise on where she has been, she claims she's been shopping and the thing she bought she's planning on taking back anyway. Suddenly Jack's phone rings and he excuses himself to take the call, as he moves to one side, Denise watches as Phil makes his way into the club and sits by the bar. Will she tell him the truth about his son? Next minute, Isaac and Sheree are seen in the club corridor, they appear to be talking about Isaac's run in with his boss about the allegation of him using drugs, as they both walk in they see Denise on the other side of the club, and then Phil sat at the bar. Phil is the one to break the silence and makes a snide comment about him coming to see his dealer. Isaac isn't wanting to hear another word, it's only then that Denise gets involved in the conversation and reminds Phil that's he's not as innocent as he makes out, claiming he doesn't his granddaughter to be taught by a druggie, when he was addicted to crack a couple of years back. She basically insults the Mitchell family name, accusing them all of being criminals! Isaac, Sheree and Jack watch on in disbelief as Denise stands up to Phil! It's a pretty brilliant scene I have to say! Something tells me though that Denise is only doing this because of being reunited with her son, Raymond, who Phil just so happens to be the Father of. As she leaves the club, she appears to be holding a gift bag, we see that it's a set of boys pyjamas that Ellie asked her to buy for Raymond, she then suddenly decides to bin the clothes and walk away.

Back at the Mitchell household, Ben is looking like he's wanting answers from Callum, he wants to understand what his boyfriend has been asked to do. Then suddenly it clicks, he realises that Phil has asked Callum to perhaps get him inside information about what the police are looking for and what they might want. Ben can't understand why Callum would risk losing his job and his future if he was to do what Phil was asking him. He explains to his boyfriend that he is good and that is one of the reasons why he loves him. It's then that Phil walks in, Ben wants answers now! Why is he bringing his boyfriend into this? Why is he making Callum do dirty work? Phil explains to him plain and simple, it's good for business and he's part of the family now, which is why it will work! As Callum and Phil both leave the room, Ben is stunned!

Back at the Vic, Karen is drowning her sorrows in a pint when Kheerat walks in. She tells him not to even think about causing any more trouble, he tries to defend himself, whether it was right or wrong, he cared for Chantelle. He loved her. Karen asks him to picture Chantelle if she was to hear their conversation, she'd hate everything that was happening. Kheerat pauses for a second, thinking that actually what Karen is saying is true. He agrees, he apologises to her and promises not to say anything again and peacefully leaves her with her drink.

At the Beale's house, Ian is looking ready for his meeting, he greets Charmaine and welcomes her into his home. At first, she feels perhaps his house is a little bit unprofessional, as she's after a catering company, you'd think the restaurant would be a better place. Ian insists that she enters his living room where there appears to be a dining table very elegantly displayed with cutlery and dishes. It's then Ian introduces Bobby to Charmaine, and she is instantly aware of who he is. She reveals, much to Ian's surprise, that Bobby and herself had been emailing about a charity named The Lucy Beale Foundation, which Bobby has designed and created himself. Ian's shocked and his ears are ringing as Charmaine admits that Bobby had her reaching for her cheque book, he instructs Bobby to get themselves some food and invites him to join them both for lunch.

Meanwhile, back at the laundrette, Max is opening up to Linda, revealing that Jack is wanting to be a proper family with Denise and the kids, he's worried that Jack might end up asking him to move out. He reveals he's contemplating going to New Zealand to go and see Lauren and Louie, even promised little Abi that he'd take her, once Ian returns his money to him. As Max is revealing all this to Linda she can't help but look guilty, she tells him not to get the little girl's hopes up. Instantly, that doesn't sit right with Max, why would she say such a thing? Why would Abi be disappointed? He moves in on Linda and can see that she's hiding something, he asks her why she's looking so guilty, she backed into a corner, she can't let him think everything is okay when truthfully it's not, she lets out a sigh - will she tell him what she knows?!

Back at the Beale's, Bobby is talking confidently to Charmaine, explaining how much he had to rebuild his life and how much he wanted to focus on turning such a tragic event in his life, to potentially something positive. Charmaine is truly touched by Bobby's honesty and asks whether Ian will match her donation to the charity, Ian insists he will but turns the whole subject back on to the catering contract. She says that she can see how much it means to him, it's then that Ian starts to take advantage of Bobby's idea and - I don't know whether you guys think so too - but does he actually lie saying he's doing it to honour Lucy?! Or is he just playing at her heartstrings just so she'll sign on the dotted line?! Bobby is clearly annoyed with his Father for making such a claim, just then Max storms in - (Linda has told him everything then!) - Max storms in on their meeting and bellows to Ian that he knows he's been lied to for weeks, he's stolen his share of the restaurant, his life savings and he wants them back!!

Back to Denise, we can she's on the phone to Ellie, explaining that something has come up regarding the little boy's pyjamas. Suddenly, Jack walks in on her phone call and she hangs up almost immediately. Jack is already realising that something isn't right with Denise, he asks who it was that she was talking to on the phone, but she brushes it off saying it wasn't important. It's then Jack is asking her for answers, asking why she let rip on Phil earlier in the club, she explains she was trying to stick up for Isaac. Jack informs her that that is not their fight and they don't need to get involved. Denise apologises and reassures him that there is no need for her to speak to or even go near Phil Mitchell ever again!

Meanwhile, back at the Beale's - Max is keeping quiet as Charmaine apologises to Ian and states that she can't do business with him after what has been revealed. Once again, Ian is trying to worm his way out of the situation, telling her that him and Max had an informal loan arrangement in which the terms have been disputed. Max isn't having anymore of Ian's lies! As Charmaine leaves, he reveals he knows about him using his money to buy the Vic! Max instructs him to sell the pub so he can get his money back - I don't know whether you guys noticed, but as Max and Ian are arguing, Bobby is seen counting under his breath, quite tensely squeezing or pinching the side of his arm - is this a coping mechanism? Can he not handle confrontation and big arguments at the scene of where his sister died? Max almost goes lashing out at Ian, as he does so, Bobby shouts at them to stop fighting! Ian tries to calm the situation, he explains to Max that they will find a solution, but not in this current situation where everyone is shouting to have their say.

I'm not 100% sure where Mick and Linda are staying right now? To me it looks like Kush's old apartment, or it could be Ted's old apartment? Who knows? I know I'm wrong, so if anyone could shed some light on where Mick and Linda are currently living, I'd appreciate it! Anyway, Linda admits to Mick about telling Max everything she knows about Ian buying Sharon the Vic with Max's money. He jokingly calls her a "Grass!". As they both get comfortable on the sofa, Mick opens up about his concerns about Frankie taking photos of Ollie. He explains to her that she had taken pictures of the family from a distance, he tells her that Frankie told him it was art, but should they be worried? Linda seems pretty unfazed, she suggests that that is what teenagers are like nowadays, taking pictures of people and things and calling them art. Which, to be fair, is kind of true?! It's clear to tell that Mick is unsure, only time will tell exactly what Frankie's obsession with Ollie and the Carter family will be.

The final scene of tonight's episode, I feel was an absolutely brilliant one! Ian walks into the Queen Vic cellar and realises the light isn't working. As he goes to grab some alcohol, we can see Max lurking in the shadows. He softly speaks to Ian and slowly approaches him, now Bobby isn't around they can carry on their conversation from earlier on. Ian is now finally backed into a corner as Max gets closer. Ian proposes to pay Max back in instalments, at first Max sees that as an insults, why would he agree to that?! But then Ian confesses, it's the only way he'll be able to pay him back the full amount. Max looks to floor, nods and agrees to the arrangement, but he gives Ian one final warning, if he missing any payment, then he will come for him!!!

I think it's finally about time that Ian got what was coming to him, let's just hope he'll be able to pay Max back every penny. What do we think tomorrow's episode will have in store?! I hope you enjoy this post and I hope you all enjoy the rest of your evening. I'll be back tomorrow folks! Goodnight! xXx

[stone-man-warrior]

December 30, 2020: 2:42:

Francis & Richard Taylor

600 Jackpine Dr.

Grants Pass Oregon

97526

End of the Road.

=============================================

What can be said about the Taylor residence?

Google can be said.

Thunderbird’s Episodes can be said.

That “Recommended” label at the top of my search can be said.

This Google email from the other day can be said:

This old one fits in somewhere too:

“The End of the Road” is going to prove to be a big deal.

The Taylor residence is at the end of the road.

“Why is the Taylor residence at the end of the road important?”

Too many reasons.

Some reasons:

If the Taylor’s are still alive, they are the longest surviving resident’s of Jackpine Dr. having moved in at 600 in 1995, to my best understanding.

If they are not alive, then I am the longest surviving resident of Jackpine Dr. having moved here in 1996.

There is no reason to believe the Taylor’s are alive. They have not been seen for more than a year, other people have been seen driving the Taylor vehicles.

The Taylor’s are/were some of the hardest of the hardcore terror murder cells for more than twenty years.

They have a dungeon sort of hole in the ground at that address, is inside of the fresh water well shed, beneath the ground, under a trap door in the floor of the well-house structure.

The Taylor’s have a old Ford Econoline Phone Company Service Van with a cage inside, the inner door-handles removed, and the van is equipped with a full size whaling harpoon taken from a whaling ship and mounted inside the van at the side doors. The van is equipped with anchor studs on all four corners attached to the frame, where they are extended into the ground at pre-arranged places where such anchoring is prepared for with some holes in the ground. One such place is the bottom of Interstate 5 southbound exit 55 where the Harpoon Van is parked, anchored, the door opens. the harpoon is shot at passing vehicles at the driver, the cars crash beneath the over-pass of the freeway, multi-car pile-up happens, State Police are there to capture the survivors. ODOT is there to clear away the wreckage with help from Wrecking Contractors such as Three Boy’s Towing. American Medical Response is on the scene for Oxcart Service to the Asante, for torture and intel gathering, and extermination of the victims who were injured.

Besides all that, the Taylor’s live next door to Grants Pass Community Church, and that place is even worse than Taylor’s.

“End of the Road”

Also, when my phone line was stolen, I called Centurylink demanding they put the phone line back, the phone line was stolen by Centurylink, who claimed “We need the phone line more than you need the phone line”. When I demanded they put it back, they say: “Sorry, you are at the End of the Line”. So, that is the whale impaled by the harpoon, on the “End of the Line”, by the “End of the Road”.

Fran Taylor drove a Red Chevrolet Impala for a long time.

Much can be said, and has been said for many years, and now, “Google” and “Thunderbird’s” can also be said when talking about 600 Jackpine Dr. at the Taylor terror cell.

It really is a big deal at the End of the Road, and has been for more than two decades.

no one goes in or out of the Taylor residence on Jackpine anymore that I can see. Who ever is living there is using alternate custom tailored entrance to 600 Jackpine from the Church parking lot on the opposite street on Russell road for ingress and egress.

This person here is part of whatever shenanigan‘s Google is pulling. It’s not a small thing, is a Big Deal.

This person bobbj77 may turn out to be Janice “Jay-Bob” Freeberg, the terror air force General. Is part of terror military branches of unconventional armed forces based here in Oregon, who do Global terror.

Janice “Jay Bob” uses a alias online “Chubacca” (I am not sure of the spelling, could be various ways) because “Chewy” (another Spelling, Aaron) is a “Jedi Space Trafficking Pilot”, that’s why.

Freeberg is presumed to have been killed already, but that is difficult to know for sure, around here, there is no “death report”, so, the only way to know someone could be dead, is when you don‘t see them around anymore, however, even that is not enough to know someone died. The terror bastards make facial impressions with plaster molds of each terror soldier, so, even if one dies, they can dress someone up to mimic the deceased terror soldier. Same is true for Citizen victims, the masks are used to lure family members of someone who they killed, or took captive, or, sometimes the terror bastards are able to convince other people to have a plaster mold made of their faces. It’s a complex, multi-faceted idea they came up with, is used for planning attack on very large families, so, one plaster mold, makes the mask, that opens all of the doors of the entire, large family, like a key does, when “Uncle Bob” is outside, he is invited into the house, because they fooled “Uncle Bob”, convinced him that a plaster mold of his face was a good idea to make.

I’ll wager that you can have such a mask mold made for you at The Mall of America at one of the stores, for a fee, and they will “Vault, and Preserve” the plaster mold of your face for you, so that the generations of your family who follow in the coming ages will have some solid thing to know who their ancestors were, so long ago. Comes with Family Tree, and Genealogy Report, and, latest copy of “Who’s Who in America, Among the (your last name goes here) Family.”

==========

Real terrorism has it worked out where when there is a “Heartfelt” news story about someone who offered a kidney to a stranger, and the doctor took the wrong kidney, then the donor and intended recipient both say “I forgive the doctor, it was an honest mistake, to Err is human“, that, is a command order.

R

ERR

Terror Err

The “Err” is “Air”.

Pirates say: Arrgghh!.

Kidney beans make “Gas”.

The Choir tugs at your heartstrings.

There is an ER involved in the news story.

The doctor was “forgiven”, it’s a Christian Attack.

“To Err is Human“ is a terror command that can be traced in old news stories.

It’s a “Stairway to Heaven“. There are thousands of them that can be written in Pyramid Form, such as that above. That is one of the ways the terror army can be certain that the command order is for real, not a trick, or “Copy Cat” fake order.

I think there is a specific number of “course” for building the text Pyramid from “Free Masonry”. I don’t have the specifics about that. I know the basics. I used “9 course” for a stop at “The 9th Hole” to have some “Airplane Vodka w/orange juice and some ice” while on course.

“O-Range” = Holy Range = Holy See = The Universe = The Place Where Orion Hunts = A Ryan‘s Hunting Grounds = The Lion’s Range = The King, See?

(”A Ryan!“ is what the children say when Ted Nugent shows up with Kid Rock and Sarah Palin (”Sara a pail in the house?”) with the whole Safari terror cell, and tells the captive children: “You have thirty seconds to out-run this African Lion...”  then he only counts to ten.)

(you could take the kidney Tug Boat a long way into the “Russian Mother of all Hoaxes” to see where it goes, and from whence it came)

(4:46 pm: Airplane fly’s over my house in response to “Google scout online backdoor spies” getting “Airplane Vodka” blips on their Google Powered RADAR)

=================

4:50 pm:

In other news, at the Walmart, they have a potato chip product on sale there, they are some kind super over processed potato product shaped in the form of a squared rectangular prism hollow shape, “Rancher’s?” “Ranch Ranger’s?”... I forget, but the idea is that you can now insert the chip into the Ranch Dressing Dip, and begin to suck all of the Ranch you care to choke on, through the straw shaped chip product. Amazing.

==================

5:30 pm:

Local Update:

I walk to the mailbox was enlightening.

Unbelievable. After saying some things about Freeberg and “Chewy”, inside of one of the two addressed mailboxes I have on the mailbox bank on the road contained a advertisement that says: “Chewy” on it!.

Must be special delivery.

That, and a advertisement that says I can get a free meal at Elmer’s Restaurant.

Both were inside a mailbox I don‘t use anymore, the house it goes to is vacant unless I want to stay there. Someone has removed the contents of that other mailbox, I left some items in it, I’ll keep that private, just in case. So, that one is empty now, there was a rubber band I keep wrapped around the box lid so the mail carrier and others won’t bother it, but, that did not keep the thief out. Rubberband’s and Scotch Tape don‘t go as far as they once did.

All sign’s point to my daughter is held prisoner somewhere, without indication of where to look. In the past, this kind of thing was done with some small personal information tid-bits to get me to go rescue my family at various places, Taylor’s at 600 “End of the Road” was one of them. They put what looks like clues left by a family member, then, I make a phone call, then, on the phone call, Taylor’s have a Police Surveillance Stingray they stole from the state police they killed a long time ago. With that, the Taylor’s insert vocal performance scripted spoken words into a cellular phone call, along with the conversation to the family member I am concerned about. That Stingray along with those small tid-bits of personal information they insert and left laying around for me to find, that were also gained from that same and other Stingray’s, is used to make me “Know” where my family is held captive, and is the reason why I made the phone call to check to see if everyone is OK.

So I go to Taylor’s and into the fresh water-well building to see where my family is at, tear up the fake floor, and see that there are indeed some people in that hole under the floor in the well house at Taylor’s. I get those people out, none of them are my family. I look around, go home, call again to the family. They say everything is OK. I call the police, they tell me Taylor’s says I trespassed. The Sheriff comes to my house, looking for the people that were in that hole in the well house at Taylor’s End of the Road.

The Sheriff is wanting to arrest me, but there are missing prisoners from the well house, he does not have time to arrest me, he needs to go find those prisoners, who all took off running like a bat out of hell when the floor opened up. The Sheriff only wants to put them back into that hole in the Taylor’s water-well house utility building dungeon.

But that was a long time ago, there are no more people to capture to put into the hole in the Taylor’s water-well building. All of the US Citizens are all dead, killed by the Canadian terror army, or are held captive somewhere.

Other than the mail box having been tampered with, it was quiet, cold, and drizzly. Some mechanical moaning sounds were heard from the north west.

A single solitary Canadian Goose flew from the north to the south, seemingly in some kind of distress, very concerned sounding goose flew overhead, did not sound like a happy goose.

Some lights came on at Chapman‘s County Court’s terror cell at the Horse Stable area, as they do most days at about this time of day.

That, and my medical insurance bill arrived.

I should have received my Pacific Power Bill by now, but that is not in the mailbox this week. It usually shows up around the 27th or so, give or take holiday considerations, Clyde Baum, and mail thief terror spies.

=============================================

Skip a head to the 4:00 mark to see what is going on, pay attention to the 4:09 mark.

(I was there at that interview, I was supposed to be the one asking the questions, but got hijacked, that other kid took over, they put me under that orange table. There was black convertible car with push-button transmission that brought me there, I think it was Jim Morison’s car, but he had jumped out of the Capital Record’s Building top floors years before that interview took place)

===========================

News Flash! This Just In!

That part about having been there at that interview was accompanied by incoming phone call from SAGClubMed Junket Services and Sword Sharpening at Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon.

Incoming at 6:33 pm from “The Doctor”. They left a message. I’ll have a look later... they can wait out in the rain and cold for awhile.

That call means that the Safari “SOPS” (that’s what the pain center is called) terror cell is at Chartrand’s and at Strong’s terror cells. also going to be at 598 Jackpine, and at Sparacino’s at 545. If any high roller’s are with them, then, that is exactly who I want to speak with personally. I don‘t want to fuck around with scalawags.

I want the Captain’s head on platter.

Those persons will be at Wesley Crowel’s terror cell, at 549 Jackpine.

The Captain of the ship is that pilot of that King Air Beachcraft the flew overhead yesterday. It’s at Grants Pass Municipal Airport most likely, roled into a goat barn somewhere nearby.

I smell Rendata terror. Merlin Oregon.

=====

7:13 pm:

Mick Taylor shows up on Secret Decoder Ring RADAR.

===========

7:17 pm:

For the Hail Mary:

Check surveillance video at Grants Pass Walmart 12-29-2020 at about 3:30 pm-ish at the dairy where the milk is at. The subject suspect is a tall person 5′ 11″ or taller, is about 240 pounds (could be sterling, so, about 17 Stone, give or take a Jagger). Subject is wearing Road Kill Hat. Some kind of dead animal with long tail draped across the left shoulder, grey/blonde sort of dead, road kill hat.

Smells Mickey to me.

==============

8:00 pm:

Here she comes now....

(steer clear of the karaoke version on this one, these guys had special breathing apparatus to get through it alive)

===================

8:10 pm:

I’m still trying to reach Pittsburgh.

I don‘t mean to be cold about it, it’s just so urgent is all.

You do remember the Thunderbird’s Episode 2, Pit of Peril... with that giant elephant roach that tossed all of the US Military into that hole don‘t you?

LBJ? Remember?

I remember MK Ultra School. They made us dive under a boat, into a hole in the bottom, to swim over to another hole in the boat so we could be put into a converted decompression chamber turned sound studio on a US navy boat in LA Harbor.

“You need a bag to survive”  they said as we went into the water with a baggie filled with air so we could make it to the other hole in the bottom of the boat.

I also learned: “What can be said about this?” lesson for problem solving.

That lesson “What can be said about this?”, I am convinced, is the Mother, of the Mother of all Russian Hoaxes. That lesson, is how they built the Russian Fractal, and all of the layers of stacked up connected lies of which the Russian Mother of all Hoaxes is composed of.

Consider that when an apple is the subject for the lesson, the students will goof off, and include some borderline qualifying answers, but there are no wrong answers, ever, those are the rules.

So, that apple has a core.

Peanut butter is on the list.

So is sharp cheddar cheese, and pie.

It’s the beginnings of Fractal Soup. Soon, peanut butter cake happens on the list, Frank Zappa lived on Wilbur Ave., he says “meat cake”, it’s been in the fridge for awhile, looks like meat, looks like cake... at 2:00 am, must be meat-cake. Marie Antoinette is there, that hot chick at the end of the bar before it closed. “Let them eat cake”...

There is no apple pie anymore... the Fractal ate it.

“Why is Uncle Fester’s head in the refrigerator?” happens next day, or three.

You can get there from an apple, and take over the world. it turns out.

That’s how they built it.

================================================

8:49 pm:

I remember now.

“We need songs to fill in these gaps” they said.

It happened over and over again throughout all of the bands and songwriting I did throughout my life. “Orders from On High”... It just sometimes was by a request from someone I knew, or friends of band mates. The seeds for the ideas for musical content often were from a visit to a music store.

Look at the producers name: Garry Necessity

Look at who is hosting the show: John Denver, Mile High City. That means Royal Canadian Mounted Police in 1973 in USA, either for real, or as a subliminal message with “Denver Necessity”.

“Bob Lolly” is Vatican Choir, not a real name, it’s the “Law Lee”... “Wind-Word Ho!” (”Wind Word Whore” initialized  WWII because of the scales are not working:  II = “  locked and loaded initialization sequence begins in 1973 here with that presentation, to build that Russian Mother of all Hoaxes... it started right there, that night, at Midnight ) as stated by RCMP from Windsor Castle, Windsor Royalty, all symbolized with a few names, a band called Aarrgent, a song about the prize, heads, w/ US Flag lit up in back, no blue field, just bulbous stripes. (see Thunderbird’s episode 5 Edge of Impact at 44:33 mark. There is the place where in 1965 the plan to collect human heads “water-member” = US Citizens for this specific Fractal View only. There, that bulb on Tin Tin‘s head is the same as the Flag background made of bulbs at “Denver Necessity Midnight Special Aarrrgent’s Meating of the Minds”. “Burt Sugarman“ is how we know it’s a “meating of the Mine’s”

The thing above is very rough decode of a complicated mess.

Maybe I’ll find more parts to the puzzle and clean up the explanation at another time. That is a big piece of puzzle parts, lots of glue is splattered all over the place right there. Close to the Sun. Short on time right now, so I put here rough.

=====

9:34 pm:

I am stuck at a place where the terror attack was going on, throughout the 1970′s and beyond that... they were doing “3% Taking”, at places where US Citizens were drawn to, three percent of a given population killed, ID’s processed, look-a-like replacements found in Canada to carry on as murdered US Citizens, using the names of the victims.

Then, at some point there is a place when evidence will show in news stories at the time they switched focus of “3% Taking” to the “$5 Walmart Service Counter Exchange Program” where each human head was worth $5.

There will be a way to see it in news stories, that $5 transition, or maybe it was a $5 addition to the Russian Hoax of attack language. I suggest 2001 is that time when “$5/head” was added to the Hoax Language, “The Huckleberry Fin“, “The V’s, Flying” (Pope plays the blues turnaround with his Flying V at Trade Center). So, “What can be said about $5?” needs to happen, w/focus at 2001 news stories to match the output of that.

For contemporary Presidential considerations, that bulb on Tin Tin‘s head marks a time when “A Head = A Bulb”, and the “Bulbs in Line are US Citizens in Line” when that is carried over to the “Denver Necessity” bulb-flag. So, everything Trump says about Incandescent Light Bulbs could prove as treasonous terror command language. Then, for a 2020 election view, Mike Bloomberg is actually Ronnie James Dio (for real) and the song “Last In Line” develops new importance and meaning far after it’s original release date.

There is a Mother Load of information contained within that Argent Midnight Special performance of Hold Your Head Up. Heads = Bulbs from that point on in some circles for command language. Further consideration is that the “Bulb” is a Vatican High Command idea, all other iterations done by others downstream in the command chain are lower in rank. The word bulb, it turns out, is very clean, I can‘t think of other ways to say “bulb”, though there are many different kinds of bulbs, it seems to always be a bulb, like the Jim Dunlop, the Pope’s change sometimes, but the Jim Dunlop is always the Jim Dunlop.

Right there, there is a folk story about a Carpenter who needs to change a light bulb, he builds a scaffold to reach the lightbulb that is way, way up high. Brings lumber, nails, an apprentice, and a light bulb. They work to change the bulb, get that done, take the scaffold apart, and go home. They can see now, after changing the bulb. Laborer’s Union comes by, someone pushes a broom to clean up some dropped nails and saw dust. Decorators Union comes by, puts the furniture back where it goes, and shuts the curtains.

There is an argument that happens at the Carpenter’s Union District Counsel HQ when the Electrician’s Union finds out that the Carpenter changed out the light bulb. The Electrician is supposed to change the bulb, not the Carpenter. So they argue. The Carpenter just wanted to go home, did not want to wait for the electrician. The Electrician said he could not wait around for the Carpenter to build the scaffold. Please Wait. Please Wait. Please Wait. Please Wait. Please Wait...

Communication Contractors Union gets involved, it’s an argument, so, that’s their thing they do, are are upset that they were not consulted about the Carpenter vs Electrician argument.... so....Please Wait happened in the communications with a glitch.

Those Midnight Specials were all Live Performances it looks like, and is the way I recall from watching back then. There is no Lip Sync going on. That is also a substantial thing to consider, all is live, not exactly the way people, the “Fans”, heard the music from the radio air play. The title of the show, is like it represents the time period between when the bulb burned out, and the Carpenter replaced it. “Midnight Special”, a time of darkness, has a lot meaning, depth. The absence of the Orange 12 on the Walmart Two-Hour Clock is noted, or, Fast Forward, to the Presence, of the Orange 12 on the Walmart Two-Hour Clock.

“The Object”

From the Led Zeppelin Presence album.

I have a bad feeling about the upcoming 10:00 hour tomorrow. it will be 10:00 for 24 hours somewhere in the world, twice. All green, for 48 hours, Walmart style, but with a 50/50 Bar from the ice cream truck, in the neighborhood.

Starting very soon.

It’s 10:49 pm. 12-30-2020.

=========================================

11:34 pm:

Local Update:

I took a walk to the road, it’s wet, not a as cold as it was a few hours ago, silent, only the sound of drops of water onto the ground from trees and rain gutters.

That place were Monroe’s cleared that brush is all arranged like a little not so private camp site. There is a log on the edge of the camp site, some chairs are there around a central camp fire that has been maintained to burn a little bit, just smoldering away, nice and easy.

But I see more than the face value of the charade, the bamboo was all cut away for a reason, not to maintain privacy that’s for sure. I see “Cam Sight” made with newly opened up viewing to the path I walk from a variety of vantage points there at Monroe’s. I get along to that spot on my walk, and the conditions change ever so slightly. The water well they have over there is either worn out and makes a lot of whistley noises, or, is a speaker playing an annoying and steady whine of a whistle sound, so, as I get there, to the “Cam Sight”, that is when the water well pump there starts, or stops, just as I get to that spot to see if it’s safe to pass by on my walk. Just now, as I went down the driveway there was an odor of rubber burning, like a tire smells when it burns, but only lasted a very short time before the odor was no longer there. Then my belly started to rumble, I could here the sound of my stomach, so, there is that gas the does that over there, only in that part of the driveway, so I come home and that symptom is not happening now. There still is a A-1 Exterminators Van over there in the driveway full of poisons. They use it as a cover for some of the poisons they are using on me for the past five years.

As I walked by the Cam Sight a second time, a yard light switched on over there, there is a Suzuki Samuri, a dark grey one they keep moving around the yard to get me to say “Samuri” so they can record the sounds from the implanted microphone transmitter that is in my jaw. They use the edited recordings to fool the federal fools who don‘t learn no matter how many they send over here and are killed at Monroe’s or by the local fake authorities.

So, I pass by a camera, that signals the Monroe assholes to turn on a light where there is a Samuri in the spot light, to get a reaction from me, while making confusion service about a different Suzuki Samuri at Clyde Baum’s house at 333 which is also parked not far away from a travel trailer. The one at Clyde’s is a white one. For more confusion, that grey Samuri is the second stolen Samuri they have had there, the first one was a black one. There were a few months between Samuri’s at Monroe’s, so, that is when Clyde got a hold of the white one to put on display to entertain the federal fools with, no one ever drives either one, they are both stolen and on display as bait that catches federal fools.

====================

12-31-2020: 12:26 am:

Terror bastards are still changing what I write. The shit needs to stay as written, it’s national security, is not fucking game... they change smaller and smaller little details, but ones that have consistently been done.

Parentheses are important, I close them out. The bastards are removing the closed parentheses, and there are thousands of examples on this account where the parentheses are hijacked, stolen.

They double the text. Two instances of the same word.

When I use the spell check for a spelling error, the edit does not stay, or is changed to a different choice in the suggested list.

The word “The” is inserted all over the place where I use any word that starts with “TH”.

“He” is inserted throughout my writings by some terror religious cult bastards.

Sometimes the entire lines of text vanishes and on occasion a whole lengthy report is yanked away as I write, is deleted and gone.

For people who might help, you should know there is command orders that come through Twitter for these kinds of changes to happen. You have to find a graphic that shows some quoted text on Twitter, the people who do Nikki Haley’s Twitter account used to make a lot of these commands with a graphic that shows a very large single non closing “Curly Quote Mark” in a graphic where some quoted text is made to look very pretty, all typeset nice and neat, but with only one of the quote marks that are supposed to be there. Those are command orders to go fuck with someone’s text entries. Many accounts at Twitter do that same thing to make that command order.

Tumblr is made difficult to use intentionally. The whole Google controlled internet is involved with keeping people silenced. When there are no other ways to get help, when FBI.tips.gov has failed as it has, then the people will turn to social media for help. Twitter makes for a handy trap to find and remove such people who make online reports simply because all of the people we need to reach are all right there, but are just out of reach on the other side of the computer screen. People in distress reach out, are tracked down, hunted from IP address, and killed. So I choose Tumblr because it’s free to use, any place where a person needs to make reports of eye-witness must be a place that will stay there even if the author of the information is killed, so, if that happens when the reporting is done on a pay to use writing web site, then the bill won’t be paid, and the information is deleted for non payment, but the person is dead, is trying to help others to solve problems, and those who control the websites, simply refuse to offer any help at all, only send assassins, they could be held liable for something that is written on their “pay as you go” web sites, so they are not going to get involved with trivial national or Global mass murder terrorism presented in detail on their platforms. It’s much safer financially to hit a delete button than to solve Global Terrorism, that is hard work, and unfortunately there is no one on Earth willing to solve any problems, not until they are held captive by the Global Terrorists, then, “I understand now” is the famous last words, while the henchmen grease the grooves where the blade comes down, works much smoother with some lube.

I chose Tumblr because it’s free and will stay when I am killed by the terrorists, I stay at Tumblr for other reasons, because it’s a trap. The reason is that in order to get my content downloaded onto my computer, I have to go to each individual entry, and download each one all by it’s self. Tumblr is difficult and clumsy to use on purpose, and they trap you here, so that the effort to download something like 800 entries is too daunting especially when my life depends on me continuing to spend my time adding more detail to help others to help me, not spending a month doing individual downloads of each page only to have spend additional time to re-post and reformat everything to fit into a different platform. That takes a lot of effort, I did that once already, a week to do about 300 posts, all day, just trying to make it fit from Google+ Format. The information presents differently on individual platforms. So, to retrieve the information so I can post it somewhere else is too time consuming. They do not offer a complete archive download here at Tumblr, and that is by design to keep me quiet. The controls are clumsy to make the information difficult to read, there are no choices for what font I might want, there is one font, the one you see here, no way to change to a serif font for easier reading, maybe the information will delete on it’s own by the way the place is set up all clumsy easy to make a mistake, and there people on the other side of the screen changing things as I am writing them down, live, while I write I see the words being changed out.

=======================

12-31-2020: 2:07 am:

This Premier Guitar Promotional email command order from Vatican Choir HQ serves as the Enormous Curly Quote I was referring to. It arrived 12-30-2020 at 1:15 pm.

That is Brian May and someone else, a “Videographer” as the story is told.

What it really is, is Curly, that bald man, from Three Stooges, he is with Queen of Curly, Brian May, to say: “Curly Quote Mark”, and that is me, and this Tumblr account. Might be Sir Brian May... have to turn it around backwards, and upside down to see what gender it is, so, send it over, I’ll give you a full report in the morning.

[forgottenpasta]

Teach Me Dirty (m)

➤ Summary: Taehyung has a lot to teach his English teacher. Fortunately for him, you’re an eager and willing pupil.

➤ Taehyung x Reader

➤ Warnings: Oppa Kink, Unprotected Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Urethral Stimulation, Squirting, Fingering, Creampie, Pregnancy Risk(?)

➤ Word Count: 2.9k

➤ A/n: This is something I wrote a long while back, recently made some changes and decided to put it up. If the writing looks weird, then its probably because some parts were written more than a year ago. Also wrap it before you tap it please. Enjoy :D

Your feet moved fast on the pavement, breath laboured as you rushed past the pedestrians on the busy footpath. For the first time you were late for your tutoring session.

A tutoring session with the most coveted heartthrobs of the nation.

How did you get this job? Well, family ties tend to take people a long way. Just that one right connection and poof, you’re being paid 3 times more for a job that would otherwise make chump change for a person with way more experience than you. You were just an average university student who took a one year foreign exchange program with one of the biggest universities in South Korea.

Until you came here and the weight of the living expenses almost drove you to starvation. The scholarship only covered your tuition and the extra menial jobs didn’t even come close to paying the full rent of your apartment.

Fortunately and through sheer luck, your uncle was an old friend of Bang Si Hyuk.

You’d met him before on family gatherings and other such occasions and he was almost like an uncle to you too. He trusted you. You’d mentioned in passing that you were a literature major and joked about having no money and no life in the typical self condescending humour of someone trying to look cool in front of an intimidating elder. The next day you had an email siting in your inbox asking for your credentials and an interview for a teaching position with his entertainment company. 

The thought had crossed your mind that you were ultimately selected only because of your uncle, because it couldn’t possibly be that half a million English teachers wouldn’t jump at the chance of teaching Bangtan. But you didn’t want to hear the truth, so you’d never brought it up to either your uncle or the Bighit CEO. 

It had been a month into your new job and you still weren’t used to teaching boys who made your hands tremble and palms sweat with just one casual look in your direction. And you knew that they knew that you were a fumbling, nervous mess in front of them 90% of the time. At least they were gracious enough to not laugh at you or point out how maladroit you were for this job. 

Well, except for one person that is

The familiar quickening of your heart meant that you were going to be one single jittery girl in between seven testosterone filled sex-on-legs boys who probably thought of you as their daily one hour of free amusement.

But when you opened the door to their dorm after a quick customary knock, Taehyung was the only face you could see. Sitting on the long couch, he munched on an apple while a wildlife documentary played on the television. 

Of course it had to be him. 

He glanced at you lazily as you entered the living room. "You're late. The others left."

"Huh.", you huffed, still catching your breath as you put your heavy bag full of assignments down. "Where?"

He gave you a playful smile which did not match the heat in his roving eyes at all. A slow once over of you from head to tow. When his eyes reached yours again he tilted his head, as if in approval. 

"For practice. Our comeback is soon. You know that, Ms. __.”

A shiver rushed down your spine at the way he said "Ms.__". He was the only one who called you that, the rest just calling you __-ssi. Apparently, calling you Miss instead of the honorific made the English lessons more "immersive" for him. 

His words not yours.

You gulped. "And you didn't go?"

He gave you a wide eyed innocent stare. "I couldn't leave you here alone. Besides you gave me a punishment last time remember?"

You raised an eyebrow. His puppy dog eyes always spelled trouble for you. 

"You told me I'd get an F in evaluation if I didn't complete my assignment this time."

Right. The assignment. Every other member, even Jeongguk who struggled with English, had completed it. But for some reason Taehyung always day dreamed in class instead. 

Daydreamed or gave you heated stares which made you blush in unspeakable places. More than once you’d caught him staring at your legs. 

"Okay." You sat down on the carpet in front of the coffee table. "Give it to me."

His voice went husky. "Give what to you, Ms.__?” He joined you on the floor, sitting so close your knees were almost touching.

He always did this. Turned your conversations into sexual innuendos, while purposefully teasing you.

You gave him a stern look and held out your hand. "Your assignment."

His cute box smile made an appearance."Of course." He grabbed a paper from the side table and handed it to you.

Ugh. He could go from intense sex god to aegyo expert in a second. It gave you whiplash.

You grabbed your marker to evaluate him when he spoke again, shifting even closer to you. "Are you sure you want to read it though? I was brutally honest with my answers."

His deep baritone so close to your ear made goosebumps break out on your skin. You tried your best to ignore the lack of proximity between you.

"Good. Honest answers are exactly what I want.” You opened the front page.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

You furrowed your brows but ignored him, focusing on correcting his English. 

1. Write a compliment for someone you admire.

~ Ms. __ has the most kissable lips ever. 

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart raced a mile a minute. You hadn't expected this. You could feel Taehyung's heated gaze on you. 

2. What is your biggest motivation to wake up in the morning?

You were sure his answer would be regarding their fan base, the Armys being his motivation. That's what most of the other members had written. 

Boy, were you wrong.

~ Seeing Ms.___ in short skirts. 

You didn’t dare look up at him. Your face was ten different shades of red.

3. What is the one wish you want to fulfill?

~ My English teacher's long legs wrapped around me while I fuck her against her precious blackboard.

Your eyes almost popped out your sockets as you looked up at the blackboard you had had installed in their dorm during the first week of your classes. 

"Are you thinking about it, Ms.___?", his whisper snapped you out of you daze. 

You blushed even more, if that was even possible. You had been imagining you both doing it against the blackboard.

Face screaming embarrassment, you looked at him finally. The top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, you realised for the first time. His hard pecs visible.

He smirked. "My eyes are up here, Ms.___."

"Hmm.", you snapped your eyes up, your own chest heaving with heavy breaths. "Taehyung-ssi you can't write-"

His lips crashed down on yours. 

He moved his mouth against yours roughly, then softly, with expert ease that scrambled your brain and made all thoughts in any language nigh impossible. You were in sync when he moved above you, placing his large hands on your dainty shoulders and pushing you back on the carpet. 

"Kiss me back, __.", he breathed harshly against your mouth. You gasped at him calling you by your name.

And he took the opportunity to thrust his tongue into your mouth, tasting yours. Your mouths made a frenzied mess as you couldn't hold yourself back anymore, pushing your hands in his soft hair, you clutched him even closer.

His tongue moved in and out of his mouth, mimicking his pelvis between your now open legs.

You moaned loudly at a particularly harsh thrust between your legs, your core pulsing with pleasure.

He broke the kiss abruptly, a string of saliva still connecting your mouths. "Say my name.", he ordered as he ground himself against you. The hard outline of his dick stimulated all your right places. Apparently he was generously endowed, and with that you had knowledge about something you were sure a good percentage of their fan population would want to know.

"Taehyung!", you screamed as you felt yourself gushing down there. Your panties were ruined and you could smell your arousal clear in the air.

"Properly!", he scolded, clutching your jaw in his hand. "I'm older than you."

"Taehyung oppa...", you trailed off as one more thrust made you topple off the edge. "Aahhhh.", you moaned as spasms after spasms of uncontrollable pleasure fired your nerve endings, your orgasm crashing through you out of left feild.

A first off. It usually took you at least thirty minutes to come by your own fingers and he hadn’t even touched you and you had went off in two.

He gave you no time to be mortified though.

When you finally opened your eyes after coming down from your orgasm induced high, you saw Taehyung smirking down at you. He clearly wasn't done with you yet.

"That's one out of the way. Shall we focus on making you come again now, Ms.___?", he asked, trailing his hands under your shirt before pulling it over your head. 

The cool air on your naked breasts made you shiver. So did his reverent gaze. You hadn't been wearing a bra. 

“Fuck. Such a tease. I knew you were purposefully driving me wild." He unhooked the belt on your short shorts, then proceeded to pull them off you, leaving you in your panties. "All these shorts and mini skirts. And don't get me started on those crop tops. I’ve wanted you beneath me since the first moment you stepped inside our dorm, all awkward, clumsy and so fucking sexy I could barely restrain myself from eating you out in front of my members.”

“I’m not gonna restrain myself now.” He hovered over you now, scooping down for a quick kiss as you still couldn't feel your limbs after the earth shattering climax. "Tell me you want this,__." , he pleaded desperately against your lips. "Please. I'll go insane if you stop me right now."

You pulled his shirt over his head in response, trailing both your hands down his toned chest and abdomen. "I want this.", you whispered just as urgently.

"Good girl." He moved your panties to the side, abruptly entering one long finger inside you. You grabbed at his hand as your eyes rolled back in your head when he sought and found your g-spot in less than a second, pressing against it in a circular motion. 

His head swooped down covering you nipple with bites and nibbles. He took one in his mouth, suckling for a minute before doing the same to your other breast. Both his finger and his mouth were sending you to heaven.

He was good at multitasking. 

Not wanting to be a passive lover, you pushed your hands inside his sweatpants and boxers, taking his thick cock in both your hands. He was rock hard and hot as you stroked his long length up and down.

"Fuck, baby.", he groaned against your breasts, his rhythm faltering between your legs. He sat back up and pulled your hands out of his pants.

"What?", you whined. He pecked your lips.

"I won't last long if you continue that. When I come it'll be inside you." 

With those words he moved between your knees, pulling his own finger out of you. Only to replace it with his hot mouth on your core. 

"Oppaaa!" Dizzying pleasure overwhelmed you when he caressed your sensitive clit with his tongue in a manner that told you he wanted to take his time enjoying eating your pussy. One finger circled your entrance delicately, only pushing inside shallowly to make you keen with wanting something to fill you up asap. Preferably his engorged cock. 

“Your pussy tastes divine,__. I could spend hours between your legs.” A wide lick up your inner labia punctuated his praise of your cunt. Then he went exploring, parting your folds to go deeper, to the parts of you no one, including you, had ever even thought to stimulate. Pulling apart your labia with his fingers, he tongued your urethra, digging at a hole too small to penetrate and a shock of forbidden sensation jolted through you. 

“Taehyung! What are you—”

“Do you squirt, baby?”

You peeped down at him, your heaving breasts small mountains of obstruction to your line of sight. He grinned against your pussy, a mischievous glint in his eyes setting you on edge.

“N-no, I haven’t before.”

“Great.” He gave your cunt an open mouthed smooch. “Lets see if you can.”

With one thumb he pulled back the hood of your clit, exposing the sensitive bundle to his hungry gaze. Two fingers slid inside your entrance with a slick sound, thrusting in and out, making you clench yourself around his digits. Then the torture began.

He would lick your clit till you felt your high approaching, his fingers exerting the exact amount of pressure on your g-spot as he drove them in you in shallow thrusts. Just when you started spasming around his fingers, he would slow them down, a smirk on his face as he abandoned your clit for the tiny hole hidden deep in your folds. And a different kind of sensation would assault you, a pleasure-pressure you associated when you wanted to pee real bad but couldn’t. 

“Tae! Oppa, I don’t- I wanna—“, you cried for something, you didn’t even know what. “Please!”

Then he backed off, and repeated the whole thing all over again. By the third time, you were a sobbing mess, tears running down your temples from the way he denied your orgasm multiple times. 

Grabbing his thick hair in tufts, you made him look up at you. “No no. Tae please, let me come.”

He tsked, pouting. “I will, Ms.__. But you taste so fucking sweet I just can’t help delaying the inevitable.”

“You can eat me out anytime, alright!”, you almost shouted at his cavalier tone. “Just let me come right now.”

Taehyung brightened up at that, like you’d just handed him a trophy. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Ms __. Don’t think you can back off later.”

“Whatever. Just make me come!”

He happily dove back down, fucking you with his finger with a renewed vigour as he finally took your clit in his mouth instead of giving it teasing licks. 

“Oh, fuck, yes!”

That forbidden, delicious pressure built again, peaking into a crescendo as Taehyung pressed your every right pleasure point, his fingers thrusting into your pussy with a rough speed that sent you to heaven on earth. 

“Tae, I’m gonna— Oh my god!”

Taehyung pulled his head back at the last minute, watching with a delighted groan as your abused pussy gushed clear liquid in quick streams, drenching you and the carpet below as your hips involuntary lifted with spasms. 

“Fuck, that is such a pretty sight. I knew I could make you squirt.”

Taehyung pulled his fingers out of you abruptly, rushing to shuck his pants and boxers. Evidently, he’d had enough of neglecting his own needs. He lined up against your well lubricated opening while you were still coming down from your climax. 

He didn't give you a moment to breathe before he pushed inside. Seating himself inside you completely, bottoming out and stuffing you so full, you twitched when the smouldering embers of pleasure flared up in your core again. 

"You're so fucking tight,__.", he exclaimed. Even after two orgasms your walls clasped around him greedily, making him throb inside your tight sheath. 

"Baby.", he called turning your face up with a hand on your chin. His fingers smelled like your arousal. Desire reflected in both your gazes. "Keep your eyes on me while I fuck you.”, he commanded, slowly pulling his thick length out of you, only to glide back in with a satisfied grunt. “I want it rough, is that okay?”

"Yes, oppa." You clutched his back, your nails digging in as he increased his speed. Overstimulation making you more desperate, you moved your pelvis along with his, meeting each and everyone of his downward thrusts. It was frenzied attempt to reach the fastest route to the finish. He gripped your hips harshly, leveraging himself with his feet to fuck down into you with brisk precision. 

Taehyung made sure to go in deep though, letting you feel the tip of his cock against your cervix with every drive of his hips, pummelling your cunt into complete submission. 

Your foreheads touching, you breathed each other's air, never breaking eye contact. 

"You look so beautiful underneath me, baby.", he grunted. "So wet yet so tight. You're gripping me so tight...", his words turned into incoherent, half complete whispers and sweet nothings. He thrusted in you with lightening speed now, both of you so close to finishing. 

"I-I'm gonna...", you gasped feeling herself losing control once again.

"No. Wait for me. Together baby." 

You wrapped your legs around Taehyung, clenching your core muscles to delay your climax. "Faster, oppa.", you moaned. 

"Almost." He thrusted twice. "There." One more time. "Now, __.”

You let yourself go. At the same time you felt Taehyung come as he emptied himself inside of you. He groaned your name like a plea, slowing down. 

You raked your nails down his back, aftershocks coursing through your every nerve. You felt like a limp noodle and you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to walk again.

Taehyung slumped down on top of you, his warm comforting weight felt relaxing. Lips moving on your neck as he leisurely gave you a few loving kisses. 

After a minute he spoke. 

"I hope you're on birth control."

Oh shit.

[halfasleepoetry]

I wish you would write a fic where Ben and Joe go on holiday together. As a couple or as friends with feelings for each other.

Because I am unlike any sane person who answer asks normally, here you go, a 4K+ word count answer.

One Year Of Love

Joe and Ben found out early on in their friendship that they like travelling together. They make compatible travel buddies; Joe would do the research and Ben would plan the heck out of the trip down to the details and both of them try as much as they can to get everything to work out according to their plan and following their schedule. So far, they have successfully done so each time, until they decided to go to Morocco. They’ve been to almost all European and American destinations that they had wanted to see together, so they decided that the next downtime they have would be the best time to branch out a little, see new places. They had a few countries in mind, but ultimately chose Morocco for obvious reasons (“Casablanca!” Joe said, being the biggest fan of old, classical films), but after much research, they decided ultimately that they would go to Agadir, because Ben loves seaside towns and beaches.

“Do you know that Agadir’s weather is like LA’s?” Joe asked without looking away from his phone.

“No way,” Ben said after swallowing his food. “We’ve picked the perfect place.”

So when they got to Agadir and realized that the chill seaside town is exactly what it is; laid back and operates on its own concept of time, they met their first stumbling block. Their taxi was late, their room not ready for checking in. But the people smiled and carried on as if there’s nothing inherently wrong with a little tardiness here and there. “People around here are really that chill, huh?” Joe recognized the hint of irritation in Ben’s voice instantly. He’s tired. They both were. So he distracted the blonde by dragging him to the rooftop patio of their hotel, where it is also a lounge cafe during the day and a bar at night. 

“The sunset here is going to be amazing, don’t you think?”

And Joe was right. They spent the evening looking at the amazing view from the rooftop before going along and around the promenade on a rented scooter, Joe at the front and Ben with his arms around Joe’s waist. They returned to their hotel when it’s pretty late, but the seafront never sleeps, it seems. They stayed out because it’s a shame not to do so, the sound of waves in their ears and night sky lit with stars and a silver crescent moon as they sipped wine and talked quietly and share comfortable silences as they tend to do whenever they are alone in each other’s company.

Morocco is both everything and nothing they had expected it to be; it’s breathtaking and different, quaint and modern, quiet and bustling. They explored the kasbah during the day, went through the restored ruins and returned to the promenade on the second evening, this time staying out longer to enjoy the nightlife. They went hiking at the Paradise Valley, taking in the view of square mudbrick houses and almond trees and olive orchards along the way. Joe had fallen in love with Moroccan mint tea, and even Ben, who isn’t a tea drinker, found himself liking its fresh and charming taste. They, or Ben in particular, had quickly forgotten the initial wariness towards the local’s warped sense of time and tendency to be over-friendly and inquisitive towards tourists. Partly because Joe is very good at handling both the situation and Ben in times like this, and partly because Morocco breathes its old magic everywhere and into everyone who sets foot on its soil. It’s impossible not to be lulled into its spell, as if they’ve drifted out of their lives into a completely different existence, especially as they make their way to Ouarzazate. Moroccan’s Little Hollywood. Games of Throne season 3, Lawrence of Arabia, Gladiator and a long list of Hollywood movies were shot there, according to Joe’s research. Joe is driving.

“I feel like--” he started.

“No, don’t say it,” Ben tried stopping him.

“--what, my inner Daenarys is coming out.” Ben groaned and Joe laughed.

When they stopped en route at Taroudant, they walked into the souq. Ben hasn’t stopped taking pictures since morning. He must have taken hundreds of pictures for the last few days, maybe thousands. Joe navigated the way, and they stopped by at a cafe to have mint tea. They--no, Joe--struck a conversation with a couple in their twenties, they’re from France and travelling on a tight budget, so Joe offered them a ride, which they gratefully accepted. They drove on to Taliouine, where they stopped by to try the freshly-made saffron tea, and it’s like no other. Joe bought some saffron stored in dark glass jar for his mom from the local seller before driving on to Ouarzazate, arriving at their riad late in the afternoon. The couple stayed at a budget place nearby, but Joe asked them to join him and Ben for a dip in the riad’s outdoor pool, and dinner later. They talked late into the night before parting ways, and later on as they were lying down on their respective beds in their room, Ben was about to fall asleep when Joe suddenly turned on his stomach and called his name. He told Ben the guy, Louis, told him earlier that he will propose to his girlfriend, Chloe, at the end of their Moroccan trip.

“That’s sweet.” Ben said, yawning.

“Get ready to be invited, if things go well for him.”

“What?”

“I exchanged phone numbers and emails with them.” Ben would have laughed if he wasn’t too sleepy.

“We could have another trip to the French countryside.” 

Ben hummed an affirmative noncommittally.

Joe continued, “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“Chloe asked me if we’re together.”

There’s a pause before Ben says, “Oh.”

“Anyway, not the first time.” Joe turned to lie down on his back again. “Good night, honey.”

“Asshole.”

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bug bite.”

“Shut up, Joe.”

It’s dark but Ben thought he could see Joe grinning. He turned away to face the wall, closed his eyes, but it took him a long time to finally fall asleep.

The next day Ben let Joe slept in as he got up early to jump into the pool, work himself a little before eating breakfast. He ate quickly. One of the older and friendlier staff that Joe had struck a conversation with the evening before, approached him and asked about Joe in broken English. When Ben told him that he’s still asleep, the staff asked if they could send breakfast upstairs for him and Ben thanked him for the kind gesture, endlessly amused by the fact that no matter where Joe goes, he always manages to get people to spoil him.

“Wake up sleepyhead, we’re exploring the citadel today.”

Joe grunted, nodded and sat up, eyes still closed.

“Still tired?”

Joe nodded. Ben sighed.

“Want to sleep in a little bit more?”

Joe shook his head.

“They’ll send your breakfast upstairs.” When Joe neither moved nor made any sound, Ben called his name. He turned his face to Ben’s direction, eyes still closed. He’s pouting a little.

What a baby, Ben thought, but he kind of like this Joe. At least he’s quiet. “Try to wake yourself up while I got our stuff ready for the day.”

Exploring the citadel turned out to be one of the most fun they had as they endlessly struck poses reminiscent of movies they could recognize were filmed there. There were lots of silly ones, especially the ones with Joe and his ‘inner Daenarys’ coming out. They spent the entire morning there, and as the afternoon got unbearably hot, they returned to the riad to soak themselves in the cool water of the pool. Ben let his body float, buoyed by the gentle swaying of the water as Joe submerged himself completely under. His body was rocked by more pronounced swaying as Joe came up and out of the water.

“I could get used to this.” Ben said.

“The pool?” Joe asked.

“And the palm and olive trees. Cool water, hot afternoon, desert heat. All this.”

They spent the evening relaxing, enjoying dinner with wine before turning in early, they would have to be up by dawn to leave for the Sahara desert. That early in the day, the desert is windy and cold, and Ben made sure Joe is properly layered and covered for the journey, using his experience on location in Dubai, filming in the Arabian desert, to good use. As the day breaks and got hotter they lose the layers, which they would need again later at night. Their Berber travel guides made sure their journey went smoothly. They passed by Draa Valley where there are more kasbahs to be seen, palm groves and a village where pottery-making is the mainstay.

They arrived at the camp where they’re staying for the night as the sun set; it’s set up like nomadic tents fit for ancient royals. There’s clean water, delicious food, more wine and Berber traditional drum beats, conversation with fellow travellers. Joe practiced some of the Berber phrases he learned, much to their guides’ delight. As expected, a little bit of wine was all the encouragement he needed to start joining the Berbers and their tribal desert music, moving in time with the drum beats as Ben watched on with a smile on his face. He’s happy, contented and possibly a little bit in love. 

The wine and the desert night must have gotten to my head, he told himself. 

The bonfire crackled and shone golden-red on Joe. Ben thought the older man looked darkly ethereal, and he’s ready to fall beyond in love with him, ready to go right into the fire. The desert was magic, Joe its sorcerer. And Ben was spellbound.

As the night got deeper and colder they slept under the tent, cozy and warm under their blankets. The bonfire kept on burning. Ben wanted to know if he would still be under the desert's spell when he wakes up tomorrow.

“Ben.” It’s Joe. “Did you drink too much wine last night?” He could hear the tch-tch in his voice, but there were also fingers in his hair, rubbing his scalp, and he almost purred in sheer, unadulterated happiness. Everything is dim, almost dark. “Don’t want to miss the desert sunrise now, do we?” For a moment, he didn’t understand what was happening. And why was his head so heavy and foggy? He was holding on to something warm and soft, an arm and a leg thrown over it almost possessively, and he didn’t want to let go--

--until he realized it’s Joe that he was holding on to.

That jolted him out of sleep right away, and he sat up almost immediately, only to be greeted by a long, numbing pain in his skull. He had to put his head in his hands for a while. Joe sat up too and started massaging his head. He put both hands on Ben’s temples, kneading gently, moving across and around, on the sides of his head, at the back, down to his neck. This feels so good. He didn’t realize he had said it out loud until he heard Joe chuckling. “I should have told you to go light on the wine. They’re local, pretty strong stuff.”

He wanted to tell Joe, no, this doesn’t feel like a hangover at all, but he didn’t want Joe to stop either, so he merely grunted and lied down again, putting his head on Joe’s lap.

He could definitely get used to this.

They got up and moving when one of guides drew the curtain slightly open with his hand, not looking in, just letting them know that they’re ready to go anytime now. Joe replied and thanked him.

The guides brought them a little eastward on camels to see the desert sunrise. The sun came into sight as if it was lighting amber fire that burned across the vastness of the sand and sky all around them. It was magnificent. On Joe’s pale skin, it looked like he was bathed in gold.

Ben continued clicking away on his camera for a while.

When Joe turned to him he was smiling, and Ben found himself smiling too.

“That was bucket-list worthy,” he said, and Ben agreed.

They continued moving until they reached an oasis town, a quiet, rustic place with friendly dwellers, always with mint tea at hand. After looking around the oasis and the buildings, some lived in, some abandoned, they made their way back to Ouarzazate again, through Draa.

It was late afternoon when they were back at the riad; almost evening. Ben missed the clear-water pool and Joe joined him. They had more mint tea, Joe was again chatting away with seemingly everyone over dinner, and Ben was happy to occasionally interject. But mostly he was smiling and laughing. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed and happy, and each time he looked at Joe talking and charming everyone at the dinner table, the feelings seemed to amplify.

When they went to bed that night it took a long time for Ben to finally fall asleep, but when he did, his sleep was dreamless and uninterrupted. He woke up feeling fresh and rejuvenated, ready to hit the road again. This time they’re driving to Marrakech on the winding road around the High Atlas mountain range. The view was amazing; snow-capped mountains lining their sight, punctuated by small villages clinging to the mountainsides. Joe decided earlier on to take a slightly more challenging route to Telouet through the Ounila Valley, where they were greeted with terraced valleys and orchards, abandoned houses carved deep into the mountains and more kasbahs, still very well preserved, sprawling and magnificent in their ruins. Ben hoped his camera wouldn’t run out of memory anytime soon.

When they arrived in Marrakech they immediately headed to the riad they’re staying in. It’s in a relatively quiet part of the city, which is saying a lot, since Marrakech is densely populated and its spirit is one of an endless open market. It’s also a lot more colourful than the sienna-hued desert areas and brown-grey of the mountainside. Shops filled with goods and trinkets of all kinds and shapes and small cafes lined the street, with people going in and out constantly. The walls are painted bright white or pastel hues, colourful tiles and geometrical shapes as interior decor. Ben immediately started clicking away at his camera the moment they arrived. Once they entered the riad, they were greeted by the indoor pool in the middle of the open courtyard, its edges tiled green, turquoise and white. It’s not as large and deep as the outdoor one in Ouarzazate, it’s more of a dipping pool if anything. Ben snapped a photo, and checked the display screen.

“We’re gonna have to get a new memory card.”

“Let’s get it when we go out to eat later,” Joe said, looking up and around the courtyard. “It’s gonna be hard to leave this place.” He shook his head apologetically.

They head upstairs, walking along the quiet and empty balcony to their room. The entire riad seemed to belong only to them, no other soul in sight, no sound heard from other rooms. Their room is spacious, with a large bed and a lounge chair big enough for an adult to lie down comfortably on. It’s decorated tastefully in that distinctively Moroccan style; the tilework beautiful and intricate and lining the walls and covering the floor, even in the bathroom. They decided to book this room despite the large bed because of the size and the view; the room with two single beds were much smaller too.

Joe let himself fall down on the bed, while Ben drew the curtain to the balcony. The view is of many other adobe buildings, rooftop patios and far beyond it is the High Atlas, still so majestic in its shadow. Ben began stripping down and out of his dusty travelling clothes, grabbing a pair of shorts from his bag and one of the towels provided in the room.

“Heading to the pool already?” Joe asked, sitting up with a groan.

“Yep.” He ran a hand through his hair, there’s fine dust in them. “You coming?”

“Yeah. Will join you in a minute.” Joe got up and grabbed his bag. Ben didn’t want to wait around for him to get undressed and changed so he went ahead and downstairs to the pool.

He got in and submerged himself completely in the water, and his entire body sighed at the cool relief that it’s been given. He likes the complete, bottled up silence underwater. Soon, from under the water, he could see Joe’s feet, making his way to the edge of the pool, sitting down with a small book, and two red apples in his hands. The thin book is a phrasebook he has been carrying around with him. He took one of the apples and bit into it.

Ben came up and out of the water.

“Look what I got,” Joe said, smirking and showing off the red apple in one hand.

“Were they from the room?” Ben asked, not recalling seeing any. Joe gestured to give him an apple, but Ben shook his head.

“No,” Joe answered around a mouthful. He swallowed before continuing. “Got them from a staff as I was coming here. There’s a kitchen apparently, but it’s hidden a little further away from the courtyard. She was carrying groceries and fruits so I helped her.”

“Been sweet-talking again, haven’t you?” Ben shook his head, but he’s smiling.

“Hey, I helped her.” Joe was indignant. “Even asked for another apple for you.”

Ben waded through the water to come closer to Joe. He stopped in front of the redhead and put an arm across his bare lap. Is it him or is Joe’s skin a lot less paler now since they got here? He seemed to have gotten a bit of healthy colour on them. He leaned forward and stole a bite from the apple in Joe’s hand.

"Hey!" Joe laughed before shaking his head disapprovingly.

“I’ll eat mine later,” Ben said, a little cheekily, but clearly liking the apple’s taste and sweetness.

“No way,” Joe protested, chuckling. “They’re both mine now. Thief.”

Ben just smiled, clearly up to something. “Put that down, I’m pulling you in,” he said suddenly, hooking his arm behind and around Joe’s knees.

“What--” Joe let out a surprised yelp as the younger man pulled him into the dipping pool. It wasn’t that the pool was deep or even remotely dangerous; Ben could stand perfectly fine in it and the water goes up just until his chest, but Joe had noticed an undercurrent of irritation and strain in Ben’s mood since they were in Agadir and then in Ouarzazate, but suddenly it seemed to have disappeared completely in Marrakech, replaced by this cheeky playfulness that Joe hadn’t seen for quite some time. Not since the last time they had taken a long trip away together like this, at least.

It took him awhile to realize that the sudden jump had their bodies pressed close together now, Ben’s arms around him and his arm around Ben’s neck, in each other’s attempt to not let the other person fall down into the water earlier. Ben always came up with some childish, playful ideas like this when he’s in the right mood. How immature, Joe thought, but he likes this Ben better anyway.

He told himself that he should pull away from Ben now, suddenly realizing that not only they’re too close, they’re also wet and almost naked. But neither of them seemed to want to move.

“Hey,” Ben said, and Joe thought he could hear his voice shaking a little, “Remember you told me the other day Chloe thought that we’re together?”

Joe looked straight and unwaveringly into Ben’s green eyes. “Yeah.”

“Do you--” he started and paused, swallowing. “Do you really think it’s funny?”

“No.” He didn’t know why it came out of his mouth almost like a whisper. Suddenly it seemed like the pool water he’s standing in had turned warm, or maybe it was Ben’s arms around him, or the heat he could feel pooling at the base of his gut, and now spreading everywhere in his body, to his head, and colouring his cheeks.

On the other hand, Ben looked like he had lost all colour from his face.

“Me neither,” he said. It must have been barely a whisper too, considering how closely they’re standing in each other’s arms right now, but Ben’s voice sounded too loud in his ears, like the sheepskin drum banging and clear voiced singing piercing the silence of the desert. Ben had been unusually quiet the entire first day they were out on the Sahara, and Joe had tried every little, subtle trick he knew to lift the mood of the younger man, to no avail. He ate less than usual, and had been steadily sipping glass after glass of wine, and his eyes--Joe knew Ben’s eyes better than anyone--they’re filled to the brim with things that were threatening to break and spill anyway no matter how much he--or they, for that matter--tried to hide.

“Joe, I--”

It felt like this conversation that they’re struggling to have, with stuttering words and half-whispers, was the only conversation they have been waiting to have since forever. Since they first met and Joe thought Ben hated him, the American actor who’s playing the bass player of a British iconic rock band. Since Joe’s birthday when Ben apologized and kissed him with an apple between their mouths. Since they hate being away and apart from each other’s side. Since they started using endearments in texts, like they don’t really mean it. Since they first snapped a photo of Ben kissing Joe’s cheek and sent it to Gwil, and it became a normal thing for them to do to rile the poor man up. They’re all just a joke, after all. Joe used to think it didn’t matter, the feelings he had for the younger man, until he learned to read Ben’s eyes, and he could see something more in them. But he kept telling himself it was absurd, it was all merely his imagination.

That is until they found themselves standing here, in a dipping pool with the sun shining through the open, unroofed courtyard, arms around each other, him looking straight into Ben’s eyes and the younger man looking like he’s about to stop breathing, stumbling and choking on his own words.

So Joe did the only thing he could think of. He leaned in, as close as possible without actually touching Ben’s lips, closed his eyes, and kissed him.

There was that initial second where they pretended like they were playing it coy, like they were being careful with each other. But Joe took that half step closer to Ben, and the water around buoyed them on, until two steps and a half later, Ben was pressed against the tiled wall of the pool, and Joe was kissing him with one hand under his jaw, his thumb grazing the corner of Ben’s lips, and the other arm slung over his shoulder, around his neck, keeping his close, even as Ben slips both his arms tighter around Joe, very clearly not going to let him go. At least not anytime soon. They pulled apart for a moment, just enough to breathe, before kissing open mouthed again, savouring each other like making up for lost time. There’s a hint of apple sweetness still on their tongues, but other than that they’re just tasting and breathing in each other, so familiar and yet so new. And touching skin. There’s just so much skin. So when Ben’s roaming hands rather deliberately ran along and inside the waistband of Joe’s shorts, causing him to shudder involuntarily and pull away, he moaned a little into Ben’s neck.

“Wait--” he said, lips still on skin.

“Wait what?” Ben sounded a little confused.

“Wait until we get upstairs?” Joe offered.

“Don’t say things like that.” Ben closed his eyes, pressing their foreheads together before kissing Joe again.

“Like what?” Joe said when Ben let go of his lips to start kissing the skin along his jawline instead.

“Like that.” Ben said, catching Joe's upper lip between his lip and teeth.

“Like, let’s get upstairs, get dressed and go out so we can get the memory card for your camera and something to eat?” He was teasing him.

Ben made a sound in his throat that sounded clearly like a protest and kissed Joe again. “No, like, get upstairs so I can kiss you all day long like this.”

And Joe could honestly, really, see no point in arguing with that, so he kissed Ben one more time.

[brianc521]

Mendes Recording Co. | Imagination

“You did not just do that!” Y/n shrieked as Shawn ran away laughing.

He did actually just swipe a generous amount of blue paint across her back, soaking her ratty white shirt and her skin.

“You’re gonna get it!” She calls, chasing after him with the paint bucket.

“No, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He yells back, running to the booth to get away from her.

“Get back here Shawn!” She yells, laughing as she tries not to trip over the plastic mats they put down to save the floor from the paint.

They’re both laughing, running around trying to get the other, not hearing the knock and entrance of a young man.

“Mr. Mendes?” He peeks his head into the booth, where the young team is laughing loudly.

Shawn looks up, shock covering his features at the new face in the building.

“Yes?” He clears his throat.

The both of them quickly standing straight and taking deep breaths.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” The young man waves between both Shawn and Y/n. “But I saw the sign,” He points back over his shoulder towards the front of the building. “You’re a recording studio?”

“Yeah,” Shawn nods quickly, “Well, we will be,” He smirks to Y/n.

“Are you interested?” She pipes up, setting her painting tools down.

“Yeah, I kind of sing a little,” He shrugs.

“What’s your name man?” Shawn asks, setting his paintbrush down as well, as Y/n rushes to the front where her new desk is.

“Niall,” He shakes Shawn’s hand. “Niall Horan.”

“Okay,” Y/n rushes back into the room with her calendar. “Are you free Monday?” She asks, looking between the two boys.

“For?” They both say at the same time.

“A session?” She says confused. “I’m sorry, did I read this wrong? Are you not interested in giving it a shot?”

Niall stutters, “No of course I am.”

“So Monday then?” She grins, Shawn’s eyes bugging out from behind Niall.

“Yeah, Monday,” Niall nods, stepping closer as she starts writing something down. “H-O-R-A-N.” He spells out his last name as she pauses, looking up at him.

“Okay, we’ll see you at 11 am then.” She smiles.

“Thank you, both so much.” Niall nods, politely waving to both Shawn and Y/n as he leaves.

Shawn stares at Y/n, listening for the door to close.

“Did that just happen?” He asks in shock.

“Yeah I think it did,” She laughs, stopping as she look up. “We have to get to work, seriously.”

Shawn blanches, “Oh fuck,” He looks around. “It’s,” He gasps, “It’s Friday,” He looks at her with wide eyes. “We have 3 days to get this place ready!”

“Then let's get started?” She cringes as she shrugs.

“Okay, um I’ll start on the new sound board, if you wanna keep painting?” He suggests.

“Sure,” She nods, quickly noticing that the fun playful Shawn was out the window now and that he was back to business.

He notices her mood change as well. Not liking the way her smile dropped from her pretty face. “Hey,” He whispers.

“We’ve got work to do!” She picks back up, scooping up her calendar and turning.

“Y/n,” He stops her.

She turns to look at him, watching a smile crawl across his face. “We have our first customer!” He grins.

“That we do.” She nods.

“Thank you,” He hums, digging his hands into his pockets. “For jumping in and setting up the session and for, you know, being here,”

“Shawn,” She shakes her head. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He grins, ducking his head and turning to go into his office to set up the soundboard.

**

Come Monday morning  the place looked brand new. When the team of Shawn and Y/n needed to get shit down, they got shit done.

The front room was completely painted, and decorated with vinyl records just like Shawn wanted. Those couches he spoke about sat like a waiting area across from Y/n’s brand new desk.

She organized her area, bringing in her own binders, files and office supplies from her home. She hung the big calendar on the wall beside her desk, and left the rest of the walls empty so they could add pictures the more they recorded.

Shawn had the new soundboard ready and tested with his own track. He was able to buy the old piano from the local church, promising himself and Y/n that the money they spent from the company budget for the piano would be put back the second they started making something. That was his first bill to pay.

They both were sleep deprived, and longed to go home to their beds, but it was 10:55 am and Y/n was just flipping the lights on and sighing as everything worked.

“Thank god,” She whispered, blessing her brother in law that came in the day before to fix some electrical issues they were running into.

“I think we did it,” Shawn cheers walking into the booth after watching her turn the lights on.

“Let’s hope, because” She turns to look at the door opening. “He’s here.”

Shawn smiles, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Let’s go.” She grabs his hand, shocking the both of them as she pulls him to the front.

“Niall!” She cheers, welcoming him in the studio.

“Wow,” He looks around at the newly decorated entrance.

“Looks good eh?” Shawn side steps, offering a hand for Niall to shake. “Y/n deserves all the recognition, she did it all.”

“Not true,” She slaps Shawn’s arm. “Are you ready?” She asks Niall.

“I think so?” He looks down to the guitar in his hands. “I invited a few of my mates, or well my band?” He asks nervously.

“Of course!” Shawn nods, looking over at Y/n with wide eyes.

They only had the two microphone’s. One for the singer and one for the instrument.

“I think today,” Y/n slides in to save the day easily. “Shawn’s just gonna listen, to hear your sound, and see what he might be able to do with it. And then the next session we might start recording?”

“Sounds perfect,” Niall nods quickly.

Shawn sighs, thanking the lords he found Y/n, and that she can jump in right when he was falling apart.

The sound of car doors closing causes everyone to look towards the window.

“Those are my mates,” Niall steps out to help bring in some guitars.

“Go get the room ready!” She mutters to Shawn, pushing him to the booth.

“Right,” He looks at the room and back to her. “Thank you,” He leans down and kisses her cheek before going to the booth.

She gasps and stands dumbfounded alone, cheeks blushing bright red as the group enters.

“Welcome you guys!” She smiles, ushering them all to the booth, allowing Shawn a moment to introduce himself and explain the process for the day. She ducks out, back to the front reception, taking a seat and checking her emails from the local radio stations.

One new email standing out like a prize at a carnival in her inbox.

Her whole demeanor drops, the excitement of the day squashed by the simple and rude response. She takes a deep breath, flinching as loud laughter booms from the booth. Looking up she notices that the door is still open.

Shawn’s laugh is softer than the bands’, but she can hear it loud as day, and it makes her smile and giggle a little.

She stands, straightening out the front of her shirt, making her way to the door, trying to, but failing, go unnoticed as she pulls the door closed.

Shawn looks up at her shadow, from his relaxed position on the piano bench. When he notices her trying to leave, his eyes widen.

“S’cuse me Miss,” He speaks up, making Niall and his band around him look over their shoulders at the young girl who’s been caught.

She looks up with wide eyes, blushed cheeks and a sheepish smile.

“Coffee?” She asks, assuming her assistant role is going to play out a little.

“Um no,” Shawn shakes his head.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she fiddles with her fingers nervously as she awaits his direction.

“Come take a seat,” He pats the empty spot of the bench next to him.

“What?” She sputters out.

“Come on, the boys are telling me about this song they’ve been working on,”

He tilts his heads in a beckoning and she slowly and cautiously makes her way towards him, taking the seat next to him and awkwardly looks at Niall and the band.

“Got a verse we can hear?” Shawn asks, making Niall’s eyes widen as he turns to the band to get ready.

“Shawn what are you doing? I should be out front, what if someone comes in,”

“Honey, be honest, it’s our first day, no one’s coming in.” Shawn shrugs. “I want your help, I told you that we’re in this together. What are you gonna do out there, when you could be producing in here?”

“I could be responding to that douche-pants’ email.”

“Who?” Shawn spits, protective over her.

“Oh I emailed a local radio station yesterday, hoping to maybe start some conversation with partnering? So like when we do produce we can get some play time, but he responded back and basically was like ‘since you just opened you’re not worthy of my time,’ blah blah.”

Shawn’s about the retaliate but Niall and the boys cut him off.

The guitar riff has Shawn’s attention, and the way Niall is singing the song has Y/n captivated. It’s obvious they’ve practiced this song a lot, they play together perfectly, and it’s so smooth.

“Woah,” Shawn says under his breath as Niall gets lost in the music.

“Holy fuck,” Y/n mutters.

Shawn looks over, seeing as she’s bobbing her head along to beat, smiling and tapping her feet too.

**

“That was so good guys,” Shawn stands up from his recording area, making his way into the booth.

“Can we record it?” Niall asks excitedly.

“Tomorrow, maybe Wednesday,” Shawn nods.

Niall narrows his eyes, eyebrows coming together.

“Give the voice a break, I want it perfect for when we lay it down.” Shawn nods, patting Niall’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah that makes sense.”

“Perfect, if you go talk to Y/n out front, tell her I want you booked Wednesday, all day.”

“Okay, thank you Shawn!” Niall smiles, shaking Shawn’s hand and then turning with the rest of his giddy team to pack up.

Shawn grins, heading back to his desk, jotting a few notes down, humming the beat of the song as the boys file out of the booth. “I think I just did it, I think I found my first hit!” He covers his face with his hands, smiling like crazy.

He looks up when the front door shuts, jolting him from his thoughts. He walks out to the front, listening as Y/n sings softly.

“Slow hands,” - “Hmm, fingertips putting on a show,”

“So,” Shawn leans against the door frame, “You’re an alto eh?”

Y/n jumps, turning quickly to look at Shawn. “You scared me,”

“Ever thought about recording something?”

“God no,” She laughs, shaking her head.

���You sounded good just then,”

“You’re ears are bleeding, you’ve been listening to that song all day with an amazing artist singing it, whenever you hear it you automatically hear him now,”

Shawn chuckles, shaking his head. “Okay, whatever you say Alto.”

** Tags: @minniemcgoo \\ @softboyshawn

[inkribbon796]

Jackieboy Man Origins: Chain Letter

Another Origin story, I did one for Silver a while back and I wanted to do one for Jackie.

Summary: For an Irish web developer, it’s been a long night. A long night that turns into a strange morning when he wakes up in the hospital and no memory of how he got there.

~::~ 25 Years Ago ~::~

   As a young man was dragging himself and his friend back from a haunted, twisted mansion in a half-dead hypnotic stupor, an Irishman was sitting at his computer in the dark early morning. Unseen to him, something in the wires of his computer were waiting, watching him for the slightest mental distraction, a fatigue to help it.

   For the man at the computer, it was late. Later than Sean usually liked to be up. Especially in the cabin he lived in with its thin walls and out in the middle of absolutely nowhere, Ireland.

   At the moment he was getting a call from his old friend, Chase. Both of them worked as coders and web designers for the same company.

   “Look, it’s not that I don’t believe ye,” Sean told him. “It’s just that yer full of shite.”

   “Hey, I did what I could, an’ it’s not workin’,” Chase answered, contacting him over the phone.

   Sean audibly groaned,  “Fine, send it. If it’s because yer wife downloaded another virus again, I will personally come over to Brighton and kill ye and yer computer.”

   “If yer gonna buy me a new computer, then bring it,” Chase dared.

   Sean groaned, “I’ll tell you when I’m done with it. Prolly gonna be done later in the week. I’m tired as shit.”

   With a goodbye and a couple barbed insults, Sean hung up. He was about to shut down his computer and go to bed. Closing up programs until the email from Chase came in.

   “Come on,” the Irish man groaned, and against his better judgement opened up Chase’s email and started reading through some of Chase’s notes.

   Two paragraphs in though his eyes started to get itchy, and his throat began to feel dry.

   “I’m tired,” Sean muttered, not meaning to say it out loud.

   “I’m tired.”

   Sean looked around, trying to find the voice.

   “Tired”

   The Irishman was looking around for his glasses, his eyes tired and having problems focusing. It made it look like the whole monitor was going fuzzy with static.

   “Tried”

   “Ugh,” Sean groaned, scratching at his own throat. “Arrrghhh!”

   “Aren’t you just sooooooo tired?”

   Sean stared at the screen, hazy with static and it seemed to be reflecting his smiling face back at him.

   “Ch—” Sean scrambled for the phone. Something was wrong, as if thousands of strings were being tethered to every muscle in his body. “Chase—”

   The Irishman’s head hit his desk and then . . . like a stiff marionette puppet being suspended by strings . . . he got back up again.

   The next thing Sean became aware of was lying down on a slightly cold surface, with a beeping noise echoing off the walls.

   “Ugh,” Sean coughed out, more and more of his body aching by the second. “Am I dead?”

   “No, but you’ll wish you were when the guards get back in here.”

   Sean startled and saw another of his friends sitting in the chair next to him was one of his friends, and his roommate, Marvin. “Marv, the fook happened to your face.”

   Scored down Marvin’s face were long claw marks, stitched to hold the wound closed. Marvin glared at him, looking like he was about to punch him in the face.

   “Yah get inta a fight with a cat or somethin’,” Sean tried to joke.

   Marvin leaned over him, glaring murderously at the other Irishman, pointing to his own face. “You did this to me?”

   “What?” Sean tried to sit up, but found out that he had both hands closely handcuffed to his hospital bed.

   “Yah scratched up my like a fookin’ demon cat,” Marvin spat at him. “Ye almost tore yer own throat out, an’ then ye tried to take my eyes out.”

   “I didn’t,” Sean tried to defend, but a sinking pit formed in his stomach. As if his body knew what he’d been up to last night, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened. The web designer was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep at his desk while working. “I wouldn’t—”

   Suddenly, Sean felt like a lump was forming in his throat, and it itched. The urge to reach up and scratch the skin of his throat was eating at him. His brain spiraled into a panic attack, and it felt like his body was physically spinning out of control.

   It took Marvin, two nurses, and a doctor to calm Sean down again. Now with Sean knocked out, Marvin was left to think. He’d known Sean for a long time, and the last thing he expected the other man to be, was violent. Marvin was pretty sure Sean didn’t actually have a violent bone in his body. He could get loud and belligerent, but never violent.

   But thing Marvin had stumbled upon while entering the cabin, that wasn’t Sean. It had taken everything Marvin had to convince everyone that Sean wouldn’t have purposefully tried to burn the cabin down, or attacked Marvin or the officers. Which got harder when his blood work came back clean as a whistle.

   But everyone was letting Sean rest. Sean was still sleeping while Marvin had to think. Yeah, he’d talked Sean out of getting thrown in a cell for arson and attempted murder. But that wouldn’t stop it from happening again.

   Desperate for anything to help, Marvin ran out to a store he typically got his candles and magic supplies.

   “Hey, Marv,” the girl behind the counter smiled at him, using his stage name since he could count on one hand the people he told his actual name to.

   “Hey, Clara, ye still got those weird doll parts?” Marvin was already running towards the back of the shop.

   She just stared at him, “Yeah, why? You inta puppets now or somethin?”

   Then she got a good look at the scratches on his face, “What the hell, man, what happened ta yer face?”

   “If I told you you’d stop me,” he told her, and handed her the money to walk out with his kit.

   “Be careful,” she warned him.

   “Will do,” he promised, and then rushed back to the hospital, smuggling in his kit back into Sean’s room.

   “Okay,” he took a steadying breath, over Sean’s still unconscious body. “This is such a bad idea, but yah can thank me after it works.”

   Then Marvin began working, trying to make the doll look as close to what he saw in the cabin. The dark, glowing green eyes, the slit throat, the wraith-like form. Once he was done with the life-sized model, he waited for the nurses to make their rounds and check on Sean. Marvin smiling, having the doll hidden from them in the bathroom. Cause a life-sized model of a guy was a sure fire way to get him supervised in the room at least.

   Then Marvin waited for them to leave before setting up the room for his Plan A: exorcise his friend and roommate. If he needed a Plan B, Marvin would burn that bridge when he crossed it.

   “Hey, Jackaboy,” Marvin tried to smile. “You awake?”

   No answer.

   Marvin frowned, then he took out a spellbook, “Good.”

   He uttered a quick summoning spell, standing outside the containment spell he’d drawn on the floor. Sean began to convulse and scream, his skin literally buzzing.

   Sean’s screams were so loud, the door flew open as a passing nurse came in, “What the fook?”

   Then a force of pure static electricity shot out of Sean, as a creature that looked almost exactly like the Irishman still passed out on the hospital bed, except for the gash on his throat. The being of malic and chaos just floated in the air above Sean’s bed.

   “Well, well, looks like I found myself a street magician too big fer his own britches,” the creature cackled. The nurse was still at the door, staring at the creature in horror. It smiled back at her.

   “Hey, you almost got my friend arrested,” Marvin tried not to show any fear.

   “Still got time fer that,” it dismissed.

   “Here’s the deal, ye go into this image I made, and I don’t destroy you,” Marvin threatened.

   The doppelgänger just cackled, sounding like Sean just with a crackling, static-like tone to it. “An what? Let yah rip me apart, I don’t think so Two-Bit Copperfield.”

   “Yer going to do it, or I’ll make yah,” Marvin threatened.

   It just laughed again, the very air charging with static electricity, and the creature lightly touched down on the floor, looking at the symbols and lines that were keeping him in. “Yah pay for those magic tricks?”

   “None of your business,” Marvin finally started actually getting brave.

   It took one of its feet and stubbed out one of the lines, blowing back the power onto Marvin, who flew into the wall.

   “Cause, ye got yerself ripped off,” it cackled and moved closer to stand over Marvin’s pain wracked body, the magician slumped against the wall as muscles in his body shook and trembled with electricity.

   “When you want ta learn some real tricks, call me,” the thing took its claws and scored a name into Marvin’s arm: ANTI. Marvin screamed in pain and watched the cop that had been taking questions early bust in.

   Anti looked back at him, standing up and walking back over to Sean’s bed. Marvin heard Sean make a confused groan. “Well, this place has gotten a bit stale. I’ll be seeing you around Copperfield.”

   Marvin tried to pull himself back up, his arm burning. “Wait,” he growled.

   “Hey, get away from them,” the officer barked, rushing for Anti.

   “No, I don’t think so,” Anti grinned, his head almost glitching. “So, buddy, yah got a gun or a TASER? Cause I’m itching to have some fun.”

   There was a loud grunt, and everyone, even Anti, looked over to see Jack struggling weekly against the cuffs tethering him to the hospital bed.

   In the distraction, the officer grabbed onto Anti, trying to wrestle him onto the ground, and got jolted with visible electricity for his troubles. The officer dropped and convulsed on the ground, screaming in pain. The nurse closest to the door rushed to him.

   “Aww, what’s wrong?” Anti smiled at Sean as he walked over to him.

   “No,” Marvin panicked, trying to weakly scramble with his good arm for anything to make Anti go away.

   “I’ll be with you in a second, Copperfield,” Anti summoned a dagger from almost a violent tear in reality itself and threw it. It perfectly nailed Marvin’s other shoulder. Effectively disabling him. Marvin screamed.

   Another dagger got the mannequin Marvin had made, electricity catching it on fire. “And there we go,” Anti’s smile got wider, “get rid of that eyesore.”

   With another step, Anti was leaning over Sean, barely out of reach as Sean. “Hello, well, it has been fun, but I’m tired of you. So, let’s have a little fun with you and your friends before I go.”

   “Get away from them,” Sean threatened.

   “Oh? Puny little human,” Anti cackled, grabbing the Irishman still cuffed to the hospital bed and started to jolt him. As the glitch demon shocked and coursed electricity through him, his whole body glitched the very air around him. “What ye gonna do about it?”

   Sean screamed and sudden his whole body seemed to move, as if every part of his body was just vibrating and shaking, rattled by the electricity.

   Three things happened almost at the same time, and to Marvin’s perspective they did. Time seemed to slow down as Anti reached for his throat. Sean gave a final tug and the cuffs came free. As quick as he could, Sean hit Anti in the face, what felt like electricity coming off his entire arm, but he didn’t see anything.

   The glitch demon recoiled back, mostly in shock, holding the side of his face and just staring at the Irishman who was struggling to get out of the hospital bed and to get in front of Marvin. Adrenaline was coursing through his body, keeping him upright.

   “Yer goin’ ta regret that,” Anti warned.

   “Get away from him,” Sean told him. “Yer not gonna hurt him again.”

   Anti cackled, his body glitching, “What are yeh goin’ ta do? Bleed on me?”

   Sean took a nervous step back, almost stepping on Marvin’s leg, Marvin was able to pick himself up enough to lean against Sean’s legs, placing a hand on the back of his leg, and starting to draw something, his hand shaking as he screamed out in pain.

   “When I kill you, I’ll enjoy it,” Anti promised.

   “If I hit yah once, I can hit ye again,” Sean threatened, just hoping that his body wasn’t nearly as hurt as he thought it was. The police officer seemed to finally be getting up, coughing and holding his arm. Sean hoped it might help get Anti under control, even if he didn’t think whatever Anti was could even be arrested.

   Anti just walked over, “I will enjoy tearing you apart.”

   Sean winded back for another punch, but when he tried to hit Anti, the glitch just stepped to the side. Giving Sean an amused, chortle.

   “Little fly,” Anti chuckled, the glitch demon’s eyes glowing, the iris of his mostly black eyes green. “Somethin’s never change.”

   Then, Anti scratched Sean across the chest, making him stumble back as Anti floated above him and gave him a smug look. Sean already felt drained, a mix of the painkillers, his throat, and the fact that he’s been mentally out of it for hours. But his body also felt absolutely wired with adrenaline.

   He lifted his arms but Anti froze, jolted by something. His eyes almost crackling with static. “You!” he snarled at Marvin. “What’d yah do ta me?”

   Marvin let out a chuckle. “Plan B, thanks fer jumping outta my friend.”

   With a harsh scream, Anti began to glitch and distort, screaming as he was trying to reach out for Jackie but burst into static and seeming disappeared.

   “Is he dead?” Sean gasped.

   “Prolly not,” Marvin coughed. “Should leave us alone fer a while, though,” Marvin slumped over onto the ground. Sean just sat down as two nurses raised over to them.

   “Well kid, yah off the hook,” the officer said. “I don’t think the boys are gunna take ghosts as an excuse. Sorry I couldn’ta been ‘a useful back there.”

   “No prob,” Sean told him. “I’m tired, can I got ta bed?”

   “Try to stay with me a bit longer,” the nurse told him, checking his eyes and all the deep scratches on him. The nurse that had been treating the police officer was now treating Marvin, calling on the radio for back up. Sean’s tied mind losing the voice in all the medical jargon.

   “What’dya do back there?” The officer asked. “I lost sight of yah and suddenly yah were in front’a yer friend.”

   “I just hit him, think it surprised him,” Sean admitted. “Marv’s got a spellbook or whatever the hell he calls it.”

   Looking over, Sean saw the cheap journal Marvin used to store and record his “notes” lying all the way across the room. “Give me a sec,” Sean said. “Maybe Marve took some notes on the bastard.”

   “Wait, you shouldn’t,” the nurse began but Sean was already up.

   He took a couple steps and faster than his brain could process it, Sean had slammed into the opposite wall, knocking him flat on his back. At the sudden loss of air in his lungs, Sean began coughing, trying to roll over but found that the adrenaline in his body was already starting to drain out. “Ugh,” Sean groaned in pain.

   The room went dead silent.

   Then, the nurse swore. “Did you just?”

   “Ugh, everything hurts,” Sean complained, and then passed out.

   Next thing Sean process was that he was in a new room, about three doctors in the room and sensors monitoring his pain. But at least, he had enough painkiller not to feel how absolutely destroyed his body probably was.

   “Hey, jackaboy,” Marvin greeted, he was sitting next to him, his shoulder and arms bandaged up. “So, quick question, yah have any secret identities I should know about?”

   “No, why?” Sean asked, already feeling pretty loopy.

   “Good, cause I’m pretty sure some suits have been in here, and they walked away with a lot of yer blood,” Marvin told him. “Mine too.”

   “Pretty sure, they can’t do that,” Sean reminded.

   “Well they just did,” Marvin told him, “I tried to fight them, but they were about to arrest me if I didn’t comply.”

   “Fer what? Doin’ magic without a license?” Sean tried to joke.

   “No, cause you went 0 to 15 with just yer feet, before colliding with a wall and took a chunk outta the plaster,” Marvin told him.

   “Huh, yah’d think I’d remember that,” Sean thought out loud. “But hey, if I did, I can maybe become a superhero or somthin’. Wouldn’t that be funny?”

   “He awake?” a woman’s voice got Sean’s attention.

   “An’ drugged ta hell,” Marvin warned.

   “Then this won’t take long,” she said and walked over to where Sean could actually see her.

   “Hey,” Sean smiled.

   “You’re Sean McLoughlin, from Althone, Ireland?” she looked at him, studying him up and down.

   “Yeah?” Sean answered. “Who’s askin’? Is this about the wall I broke?”

   “We’re more concerned with how the wall broke, than who broke it,” she corrected.

   “Shit,” Sean shrugged, immediately regretting it because of how sore he still was, even with the painkillers. “Ow. Why did I do that?”

   “Are you still hurt?” she asked.

   “Nah, it’s just sore,” Sean correct. “What were we talking about?”

   The woman didn’t seem to even be frustrated. “Do you know what happened, Mr. McLoughlin?”

   “Nah,” Sean dismissed. “I think there was some glitchy reject video game character, an’ now everythin’ should hurt, but doesn’t cause’a these awesome drugs.”

   She looked at Marvin, but Marvin shrugged, “Hey, guy’s as high as a kite, what do ye want from me?”

   “Mr. McLoughlin, my name is Agent Laine,” she told him.

   “Kay,” Sean smiled.

   “We’ll let you get back to sleep,” Sara told him. “I’ll be back.”

   “Hopefully with an actually reason to take our blood,” Marvin reminded.

   “Only if we find anything out of the ordinary,” she said and left.

   “Finally,” Marvin growled.

   “She doesn’t seem nice,” Sean commented.

   “Alright, you might not remember this, but last night you moved fast, like superhuman fast, and I did actual magic. It was amazing.” Marvin smiled. “Unfortunately the suits figured out.”

   Sean just laughed, “Yeah right, an’ I’m a superhero.”

   Marvin shrugged, “Sleep it off, I’ll try and keep the suits from locking you in a padded cell.”

   “Yer the best, Marv,” Sean told him, and they just kept talking, more joking than anything else until Sean got tired again.

   In five days Sean would run through town in a colorful, oversized hoodie and an old Halloween mask he’d find in Marvin’s box of things. In five days, Sean would race around the city, testing out his newfound super speed.

   But today there were just two friends in an isolated room, talking and laughing. Both of them enjoying the little bit of peace they had while it lasted.

[everlarkficexchange]

Why Do I?

Author: @hutchhitched

Prompt 53: Everlark have been friends for a long time. Then this exchange happens. Person A: Why Do I even like your dumb ass? Person B: Huh? Person A: *panics* I SAID YOU HAVE A NICE ASS. [submitted by @iliveilaughiloveiread]

Rating: M

Summary: Peeta’s in love with his roommate Katniss. She thinks he has a really good set of buns. All puns intended.

Author’s note: Thanks for the prompt, @iliveilaughiloveiread. I had a lot of fun writing their banter.

“Peeta?”

“Kitchen!”

I hear Katniss throw her keys on the table in the entryway. It’s rare I know she’s there before she sneaks up on me. She’s so quiet I’ve lost track of the number of times she’s scared the shit out of me. I may have dropped a few trays of baked goods on the floor and jumped and screamed like a little girl when she’s tackled me with bear hugs and tickles. The squeals I make when her fingers slip under my shirt are so far from masculine it’s embarrassing, but I wouldn’t trade her hands on my skin for anything.

“What are you doing here, Mellark?” she asks in her throaty chuckle. “You’re not usually home on a Wednesday afternoon.”

“The kid cancelled again,” I answer, referring to the ten-year-old boy I typically tutor mid-week.

“Ah. So, it’s just us,” she replies before crossing to me and snuggling against my side. I lift both hands in the air and hug her with my elbow.

“Sorry. Cookie batter.”

She shrugs away, slumps onto a stool, and leans over the counter to observe. “Sugar?”

“Yes, Dumplin’?”

I grin at her laugh. I’m glad she’s finally rediscovered it. It’s been such a recent thing, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.

“Sugar cookies?”

“Ohhhh… You’re only interested in my baked goods. Maybe I can whip up some buns for you later.” I turn my back to her and clench my ass several times until she begs me to stop. When I turn, her gray eyes sparkle with mirth, and a rare smile graces her beautiful face. When she finally chokes back her laughter, she covers her mouth with her hand and murmurs something.

“Huh?” I can’t have heard her right. There’s no way, but it’s too tempting to let go. “Why do you like my dumb ass? Is that what you said?”

She freezes, and her eyes widen slightly. She gulps several times before blurting, “I didn’t say that! I said, ‘you have a nice ass!’”

“Oh, reeeeeeally?”

“Shut up!” she barks and sprints from the kitchen. A few seconds later, her bedroom door slams, and I sigh heavily.

Katniss Everdeen will be the death of me. I’ve loved her since Kindergarten, and I have no idea how I got so lucky to be her best friend. Well, technically, I do. She used to only talk to Madge Undersee, the daughter of a local politician, and Gale Hawthorne, brooding outdoorsmen who made all the girls in our high school swoon until he graduated and enlisted in the Marine Corps. When Gale left and Madge moved to the state capital after her father became a senator, Katniss drifted through the hallways between classes like a ghost. It only took me three months to work up the nerve to approach her in the lunchroom and ask if she’d like company. Another five weeks passed before she agreed to hang out with me outside of school. Three years later, she said yes when I asked her to be my roommate during college, and we haven’t lived apart in the seven years since. It’s been the best decade of my life.

Except for that pesky little being-in-love-with-her thing. She either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. Other than the hugs she gives me, we rarely touch. The most vulnerable she’s ever been with me was when her sister was in a car wreck a few years ago and went into the hospital. Katniss fell apart that night, and I did everything I knew how to do to comfort her. I wish I could do it every day.

I wish a lot of things I’m sure will never happen. Kissing her lips. Seeing her naked. Sinking into her and losing myself. Hearing her breathy moans when she comes. My ring on her finger. Marriage. Children. Grandchildren. Growing old together. Sharing a last name.

“Give it up, Bread Boy,” I mutter. “She’s never gonna love you that way.”

I turn my attention to the cookies. The timer dings, and I pull the first batch from the oven and let them cool while I mix several different colors of icing. Minutes turn into an hour as I decorate batch after batch. I’m just finishing the last few when I hear her behind me.

“I’m hungry. You want to grab dinner?”

I’m careful to keep my face blank when I turn and take in her beautiful face. She’s vulnerable and trying not to show it. Her gray eyes are haunted, and she’s wringing her hands. As much as I’d like to tease her, she doesn’t need that right now. She’s needs reassurance and understanding.

Sometimes it sucks to do the right thing instead of pushing for what I want.

“Always,” I answer quietly and wait for her to meet my eyes. “What sounds good?”

“Carbs.

“You want bread, huh? Maybe a little bun action?” I absolutely have to wiggle my ass. In fact, I have to back up to her and shake it some more. Her face floods with color, and I wink at her.

Sometimes it’s amazing to do what I want. Screw the right thing.

“You are the worst,” she grumbles, and I laugh at her discomfiture.

“I am, but I will feed you if you’ll help me clean up the kitchen.”

“Well, that sounds like a lot of work.” She crosses to me and bumps her shoulder against my arm. Without thinking, I tug her to my chest and nestle her head underneath my chin. She wraps her arms around me, and I kiss her on the crown of her head. When she relaxes, I squeeze her until she yelps.

“You’re a lot of work,” I joke and let her go. Beyond pleased, I hide my grin at the chagrined look on her face. Maybe, just maybe, she might like me a little more than I’d realized.

****

Two days later, I come home to her car in the driveway. She’s not expecting me, I’m sure, since I was supposed to have dinner with my older brother. I didn’t bother to text her when he bailed. Instead, I decided to surprise her, so I sneak inside the house and attempt to be as quiet as possible walking down the hall. I’m about as graceful as an elephant on roller blades, so I’m surprised she doesn’t call out to me.

Her door’s open, and I can hear rustling as I approach. I pause and try to figure out if she knows I’m out there when I hear her moan. Perplexed, I peek around the doorjamb and my mouth drops open. Her legs are splayed, and her eyes are closed. Her left hand grips the headboard, and her right is shoving a piece of plastic between her legs. It takes me a second to realize it’s vibrating. She moans louder, and my eyes widen.

Katniss Everdeen is masturbating. In our house. With her door open. And I can see her.

I jerk back into the hallway quickly and stand frozen to the spot. It feels terribly wrong to stay where I am, but I’m even more terrified to move and alert her to my presence. It’s a form of exquisite torture to listen to her as her breath quickens. She’s more vocal than I expected, and I’m horrified when my dick twitches in response. Every sound from her makes me stiffen, and my jeans tent higher the longer I listen.

She curses and groans for several more minutes, and I’m powerless in her spell. My dick throbs, and I allow myself a little bit of relief by rubbing myself through the denim. I absolutely cannot jack off in the hallway. It’s unacceptable to get off to her private act. Unforgivable.

I’m about to throw all my ethics to the wind when she releases a strangled moan. It’s obvious she’s climaxing, and I can’t stand it anymore. I turn and rush from the house, praying she’s too involved in coming to hear me.

I try to calm down, but I can’t. Stumbling to the side of the house, I duck behind the honeysuckle bush that’s big enough we’ve joked it could be a secret hideout for neighborhood kids. Thankfully, no one’s there, and I grunt as my hand fists my cock.

Echoes of the erotic sounds Katniss made ping in my head, and I can’t erase the image of her fucking herself with silicone. Hunched and desperate to finish before she realizes my car’s in the driveway, I imagine her screaming my name as I tug and stroke. A stiff breeze rustles the bush shielding me from the rest of the world, and I bite my bottom lip as a thick rope shoots from me and stains the green leaves and white blossoms. The sickeningly sweet scent mingles with the smell of sex, and I shudder as I give one last squeeze and release. Quickly, I tuck back into my jeans and wipe my hand on the inside of my t-shirt. I’ve got to get back inside.

I’m frazzled when I stumble through the front door. Making as much noise as I possibly can, I call out her name and wash my hands in the kitchen sink.

“I didn’t hear you pull up,” she says from behind me, and I jump. She’s snuck up on me again.

“Huh,” I reply, desperate to appear normal. “I was out there for a while. Checking email and stuff. You know.”

“Yeah?” She arches her eyebrow and shrugs. “Slow at work, so I’m off tonight. Your plans fell through?” When I nod, she asks, “Want to watch basketball? Have dinner?”

“Sure.”

Watching sweaty men run up and down a court handling balls seems like the perfect remedy to forget how much I love the woman standing in front of me who was naked and writhing in her bed only a few minutes ago. Either that, or I’m in hell.

****

Five days later, I know I’ve entered another dimension that’s been created specifically for self-torture. I haven’t slept through the night since I saw her. I wake myself from erotic dreams and keep a roll of paper towels next to the bed to erase the evidence. I feel like I’m twelve again—unable to control what happens between my legs and experimenting every time I’m alone. I’m embarrassed by my constant state of arousal, and it’s getting harder to hide from Katniss—literally and figuratively.

I’m in the shower jerking myself with a soapy hand when she knocks on my bathroom door.

“Peeta?”

“Yeah!” My arm twitches with tension. I’m almost there.

“Hey, can you give me a ride home from work today? Getting that wheel replaced I messed up a few weeks ago.”

Her voice washes over me like velvet, and my hand moves of its own volition. I’m so close. So, so close.

“Peeta, you okay?”

She’s inside my bathroom. I can tell by the sound of her voice.

“Yeah,” I sputter. “Fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I groan as heat rips through me. Two more strokes, and I come. I suck in my breath and choke. I can’t breathe as I cough and sputter, and her hand appears at the corner of the curtain.

“Peeta!” Alarm evident in her voice, she warns me of her intention, and I have a split second to cover my crotch with a washcloth before she peeks around the corner. Her eyes narrow as I continue to hack, and I raise my right hand to cover my mouth. I slip slightly and brace my left on the wall, leaving the washcloth draped over my very prominent erection, which she’s clearly just noticed.

“H-holy shit,” she stammers. “I’m so sorry. I—” She bolts from the bathroom, and I rip back the curtain, grab a towel, and stagger after her on shaky legs.

“Katniss! Wait!”

She’s wide-eyed and frozen in the hallway when I emerge from the steam-filled room. The towel still tents slightly, but the absurdity of the situation and my recent ejaculation has deflated my hard-on significantly. I’m as mortified as she is until I realize I’m dripping wet and only in a towel in the hallway with the love of my life.

“You were choking,” she blurts. “It sounded like you were dying.”

“I know. It’s fine.” I rush to assure her I understand.

She stares at my chest, and I almost cover myself before I realize she seems completely dazed. Water droplets run down my stomach, and her eyes follow them. I’m not sure what to say, so I remain quiet, hoping somehow things won’t get any more awkward than they already are.

“I shouldn’t have…I mean, I didn’t know you were… I, uh… Yeah.”

I reach for her shoulder, and my towel shifts. Her eyes widen as I grasp it closed. Her eyes lift to mine, and I’m struck at the wonder in them. Frozen for several seconds, I study her until she takes a step toward me. And then another. And another until she lifts her hand and grazes her fingertips across my stomach. I suck in air and hold it while she traces the curve of my torso.

I exhale in a rush when she toys with the edge of the towel and tugs it from my skin. I let go, and the damp cloth pools at my feet. Her eyes rake over me, and the hunger is raw when she finally meets my eyes.

“I…” The words get caught in her mouth, and I watch her for a sign before leaning down and brushing my lips against hers. I don’t dare open my eyes until I feel her arms slide around my back, and then I crush her to me and tilt my head to kiss her deeper.

I lose track of time as we stand there. My body sizzles as my skin warms and the water evaporates. Her body is pliant and firm against mine. Her hands tug at my neck and trail down my back to the top of my hip bones but don’t go any lower. Her clothes stick to me, and I have a vague recollection that she’s already dressed for work as I wind her thick braid around my palm. I don’t ever want to stop.

She releases a breathy moan, and I press her against the wall and push against her. My knee slides between her legs, and I can feel the heat at her center as her tongue slides over mine. I tug her shirt from the waistline of her pants and grunt when my palm hits her smooth skin.

I rip my mouth from hers and suck on the hollow below her ear. “You feel so good,” I mumble in a tortured whimper.

“Peeta,” she moans, and my hips jerk against her when her hands slide down and cup my ass. All those jokes about buns ripples in the shared sexual tension that increases steadily as she kneads and cups me. Not surprisingly, I’m turned on again, and my cock behaves like a heat-seeking missile. I rub against her groin, and she grinds into me.

A nagging voice tells me to stop, to pull back, but I don’t want to listen to reason—only what her body’s telling me. I don’t understand anything except the way we fit together. I maneuver her a few steps over until she stumbles backward into her room and onto her bed. I stretch over her and wrap her legs around my waist. She moans as I thrust my hips against hers until she moves in rhythm under me. A few seconds later we’re dry-humping like teenagers.

I can feel the seam of her pants against my dick, and she squirms until her breath catches. When it does, I press against her and watch in disbelief as she unravels underneath me.

“Right there,” she begs. “Don’t stop. Right there.”

I buck against her, pushing the material against her clit until she spasms and quakes in my arms. She pants and moans as her body trembles, and I realize I’ve just pushed the woman I love over the edge. I made her come, and I didn’t even have to get her naked.

When she stills under me, I’m suddenly aware of our situation. I’m naked on top of her, and she’s just climaxed inside her pants. Her work clothes are rumpled, soiled, and damp, and I’ve got my second raging boner of the morning. It’s so ridiculous, I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re laughing at me?!”

Before I can process her question, I’m flat on my back, and she’s glaring down at me from the side of her bed. Infuriated, her gray eyes flash, and her hands are clenched at her sides.

“No!” I protest and smirk when she looks down at my junk. It’s both incredibly embarrassing and equally thrilling that she’s seeing me naked (again) and seems to like it.

“Then what is it? I’m bad at this? I didn’t live up to expectations? What?” She spits her interrogation so fast, my head spins. I grab the sheet and cover myself. I’m starting to shrink, and that’s definitely not what I want her to see.

“Katniss, you are absolutely not bad at this. Not even close to bad. More like fucking amazing.”

“Really?” Her voice is so small I almost can’t hear it.

“Hell, yes! I just— I mean, that was not how I expected that to happen.”

“Expected what to happen?”

“Us!” I blurt and snap my mouth shut. I hadn’t intended to admit just how much I’d been wanting to kiss her.

She grins and sits on the edge of the bed next to me. “You’ve been planning that?”

I nod and lean over to kiss her cheek. “For the past twenty years or so. You have no idea the effect you have.”

She blushes and ducks her head. “Well, I might have a little bit of an idea,” she says and nods toward my lap. “You going to take care of that?”

My face burns at her insinuation. “I don’t think that’s going to be necessary,” I answer in a desperate attempt to regain some dignity.

“Who said anything about necessary?” she teases and attempts to pull the sheet back.

I want to so badly. I almost ache with it, but this is not the right time. I want hours with her. I want the rest of my life. I don’t want our first time to be a quickie on a weekday morning when we both have to be out the door in less than an hour.

“I can’t believe this, but we both need to go to work. You’re probably gonna want to change, and I’m going to try to save face and walk out of here without worrying about you watching my bare ass as I go away.” Before I can think about her ogling me, I stand and cross to her door. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Sure,” she agrees. “And Peeta?”

“Yeah?” I poke my head back in her room for her answer.

“I’m still not exactly sure why I like your dumb ass, but you really do have a nice one.”

[sarcasticcynic]

It’s a Crime

Image credit: Alex Brandon/AP/Shutterstock, via Rolling Stone

Republican and conservative apologists for Trump have adopted a two-prong strategy in their efforts to defend the indefensible, i.e., Trump asking multiple foreign governments to investigate his chief political rival, Joe Biden. First, they are trying desperately to redirect attention away from Trump and onto Biden. Second, they are proclaiming that, regardless of whether what Trump did was proper, “there’s no crime here.”

SIDE NOTE: Trump apologists find themselves saying that a lot. For example:

On July 8, 2017, Donald Trump Jr. issued a formal statement insisting that his infamous 2016 Trump Tower meeting with a Russian government lawyer was “primarily” about Russian adoptions.

Within 24 hours, Donald Jr. admitted that the statement was false, and that the meeting’s true purpose was to get dirt on Hillary Clinton for his father’s campaign.

Trump and his lawyers repeatedly denied that he’d had any advance knowledge of or anything to do with his son’s false statement.

On June 2, 2018, Trump’s lawyers admitted that Trump had actually dictated the statement himself, and lied to the public for nearly a year. They then argued that “misleading journalists is not a crime.”

This time, they’re wrong.

There is a crime here. Two, in fact (three if you count Trump’s efforts to conceal them as yet more obstruction of justice). They’re the very same crimes for which Special Counsel Robert Mueller originally declined to indict anyone due to lack of sufficient evidence to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. Since then, Trump and his surrogates have been falsely proclaiming that the Mueller report was “Total EXONERATION,” and that all of the allegations against him and his campaign were entirely false, fake news, a witch hunt, a conspiracy theory, and the like. Trump apparently believed his own press, and ignorantly thought the lack of indictments meant he was free to ask foreign governments to interfere in U.S. elections on his behalf with impunity. The law begs to differ, as the Mueller report itself confirms.

(Please feel free to reread the Mueller report for yourself, if your recollection needs refreshing.)

Collusion

Volume I of the Mueller report spelled out that there is no such thing as the crime of “collusion,” the term that Trump and his team kept tossing around until everyone else adopted it. The actual criminal act would be “conspiracy.” From page 2 of the report:

“In evaluating whether evidence about collective actions of multiple individuals constituted a crime, we applied the framework of conspiracy law, not the concept of ‘collusion.’ ...collusion is not a specific offense or theory of liability found in the United States Code, nor is it a term of art in federal criminal law. For these reasons, the Office’s focus in analyzing questions of joint criminal liability was on conspiracy as defined in federal law.”

The crime of “conspiracy” requires “coordination” between two or more parties. The Mueller report also explained the specific legal meaning of “coordination” in this criminal context. From page 2 again:

“We understood coordination to require an agreement--tacit or express--between the Trump campaign and the Russian government on election interference. This requires more than the two parties taking actions that were informed by or responsive to the others actions or interests. ”

The Mueller report detailed multiple instances in which the Russian government took actions that it knew would benefit the Trump campaign. It also detailed multiple instances in which the Trump campaign had knowledge of the Russian government’s activities and took steps to maximize the extent to which they would aid the campaign. Finally, it detailed numerous instances in which the Trump campaign was “receptive” to offers of assistance from the Russian government, and actively concealed those offers. From page 5:

“[T]he investigation established that the Russian government perceived it would benefit from a Trump presidency and worked to secure that outcome, and that the Campaign expected it would benefit electorally from information stolen and released through Russian efforts.”

What was missing was evidence proving “coordination” beyond a reasonable doubt. The fact that Russia knew the Trump campaign would benefit from its actions didn’t prove that the Trump campaign had requested those actions. The fact that the Trump campaign knew that Russia was the source of stolen  information and capitalized on its release also didn’t prove that the campaign had asked Russia to do it. And although the report confirmed that Russia did expressly make “offers of assistance to the Campaign,” none of those particular offers ever came to fruition. Some examples:

Dmitry Klokov is a communications director for a large Russian electricity company, who had previously worked for Russia’s energy minister and had contacts in the Russian government. In November of 2015, Klokov offered his assistance to the Trump campaign, specifically offering the campaign “political synergy” and “synergy on a government level” by setting up an informal meeting between Trump and Vladimir Putin himself. It never happened, because Michael Cohen erroneously thought Klokov was a former Olympic weightlifter of the same name so he never communicated the offer to anyone else on the campaign. (Pages 72-75.)

The Trump campaign spent months in 2016 trying “to arrange a meeting between the Campaign and the Russian government” regarding information “damaging to candidate Clinton.” But “No meeting took place.” (Pages 6 and 89-92.)

In the spring of 2016, a Russian named Henry Oknayansy a.k.a. Henry Greenberg contacted the Trump campaign and offered to sell “financial statements demonstrating Clinton’s involvement in money laundering.” The campaign declined to pay for it, however, and the purported documents never materialized. (Page 61.)

When the Trump campaign set up and attended meeting at Trump Tower with a Russian government lawyer on June 9, 2016, the campaign expected to receive “official documents and information that would incriminate Hillary.” But Russia provided no such information. (Pages 6 and 110-119.)

A Republican named Peter Smith spent almost a year leading up to the 2016 election trying to recover Hillary Clinton’s emails. He claimed to be working on behalf of the Trump campaign, and also claimed to be interacting with people “with ties and affiliations with Russia.” But Smith never received any emails, and moreover the Mueller investigation found no evidence to support Smith’s claims that he was actually in contact with Russian hackers. (Pages 62-64.)

Now, however, the Ignoramus-in-Chief has publicly solicited involvement in the 2020 election from multiple foreign governments. This is express evidence of “coordination,” the only piece Mueller was missing to prove a crime in connection with the 2016 election. And Trump just graciously supplied conclusive evidence of doing just that. If any foreign government takes action that could impact a U.S. election after Trump has requested it, that constitutes the “tacit” agreement that Mueller previously lacked--the final element of an illegal criminal conspiracy.

Knowledge

On June 9, 2016, Donald Trump Jr., Jared Kushner, and Paul Manafort met with Russian representatives at Trump Tower, for the specific purpose of obtaining information from official Russian sources that they could use to help Trump’s presidential campaign and damage his opponent, Hillary Clinton. This violated federal campaign-finance law, because the campaign was expecting a “thing of value” from a foreign government. The reason Mueller did not charge them with any crime is that “the government would have to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that that the June 9 meeting participants had general knowledge that their conduct was unlawful.” From pages 187-188:

“The investigation has not developed evidence that the participants in the meeting were familiar with the foreign-contribution ban or the application of federal law to the relevant factual context. ... Additionally, in light of the unresolved legal questions about whether giving ‘documents and information’ of the sort offered here constitutes a campaign contribution, Trump Jr. could mount a factual defense that he did not believe his response to the offer and the June 9 meeting itself violated the law. Given his less direct involvement in arranging the June 9 meeting, Kushner could likely mount a similar defense. And, while Manafort is experienced with political campaigns, the Office has not developed evidence showing that he had relevant knowledge of these legal issues.”

In other words, Mueller concluded that the government could not prove beyond a reasonable doubt that they specifically knew trying to get dirt on a political opponent from a foreign government was a violation of federal election law. Unfortunately for Trump, that anticipated defense is no longer valid.

Back in June, after the release of the Mueller report, Trump crowed that he would absolutely accept damaging information on a political opponent from a foreign power in the future: “There’s nothing wrong with listening. It’s not an interference. They have information. I think I’d take it.” When reminded that FBI Director Christopher Wray told political campaigns to notify the FBI if a foreign entity contacted them, Trump insisted: “The FBI director is wrong.”

Both Democrats and Republicans roundly criticized Trump’s remarks. The very next day, in response, the chair of the Federal Elections Commission promulgated a formal statement “reiterating, emphatically, that foreign assistance is illegal in U.S. elections”:

“Let me make something 100% clear to the American public and anyone running for public office: It is illegal for any person to solicit, accept, or receive anything of value from a foreign national in connection with a U.S. election. ... Anyone who solicits or accepts foreign assistance risks being on the wrong end of a federal investigation. Any political campaign that receives an offer of a prohibited donation from a foreign source should report that offer to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Trump can no longer claim he doesn’t know soliciting damaging information on a political opponent from a foreign government is illegal. Nevertheless, he has directly solicited damaging information on his political opponent, Joe Biden, from multiple foreign powers. He is therefore guilty of not only a criminal conspiracy against the United States but also a violation of federal election laws. Either of these alone constitutes “Treason, Bribery, or other high Crimes and Misdemeanors”--i.e., an impeachable offense.

Not that any of this matters, of course. Trump will never resign, as Nixon did; that would make him a “loser,” his deepest fear. House Democrats will surely impeach him, but just as surely Senate Republicans will (as usual) elevate party above country, disregard all of the evidence, attack the Democrats, scream about Obama and supposed “deep state” conspiracies, and ultimately refuse to vote in favor of a conviction. The End.

[elhoimleafar]

From booksellers sorcerers and cyber-pagans. #SocialMedia #ModernPagans “Let your closest relationship be with the gods you worship and not with your social media”.

While it is true that I am very regular with social networks, for me it is inevitable because it is part of my job, managing the accounts of other clients for the two agencies with which I work keeps me very focused in the world of social networks, I graduated as a publicist in 2013 and my area is precisely managing profiles and social networks, and although it is difficult for me to keep my academic/professional life in my spiritual/professional life, I do my best to keep it that way and until now I think I have achieved it.

My Twitter account is permanently active, it is my window to the world, it is literally my way of doing catharsis, sharing with my readers, with my friends, with my followers who support me, it is my way of taking ideas from my head, sharing notes and thoughts, funny pictures, great places, etc... But I try to maintain a line and a firm position between both worlds and over time I have achieved a balance.

While my Instagram may be full of photographs of my candles and amulets, these are taken after the rituals, and mostly I do it to share the recipes with those who follow me, but not to show off, much less will they see me performing a ritual in a live Facebook, not by the intervention of the cameras, I really do not think that the device has any negative effect that I can not control, it is rather for two reasons that I think are quite logical, and which I have maintained against any argument that they have thrown me to defend the opposite.

First, for a topic of concentration, in the middle of my rituals, before and after them I like to feel focused on 100%, I do not tolerate any kind of distractions, and you can not give 100% of you, if 36% of your brain is busy focusing on the photo, the video and setting up snapchat filters.

Second, out of respect for my tradition, I'm not a Catholic, but I do not think Catholics go to mass and broadcast it on video, but I do not know much about their religion so I'm not really sure what I write here, and if They do, well, that's wrong. 

When you are in the middle of a ceremony or a spiritual session, you are having a private meeting with the creator gods of the universe, they descend to listen to you, look at you, encourage you, motivate you and encourage you to follow, listen to your complaints, your laments, and help you Heal in any aspect of your life that you need.

When you are reunited with the ruling god of your pantheon, you dedicate yourself to him or her, just as they dedicate themselves to you, and I do not think you can dedicate yourself 100% to them if you are focused on finding the correct angle of the camera for your Instagram post.

It is a matter of total respect and consideration, if I admire the American pagan community and its community of witches, it is that although they have all the facilities of the internet (much faster than you can imagine outside the USA) and make use of absolutely all social networks, they always seek to organize all kinds of talks, forums, events and festivals where they can meet face to face, celebrate the celebrations of the wheel of the year, perform all kinds of rituals in groups and long forums, talks and workshops to deal with various topics about the esoteric world and sorcery, and although it is true that we can find a lot of prejudice around, because there will always be those who only see the glass half empty and point out that all this is done only for money, beyond empty criticism, the money involved is not able to stain these events in any way, so far I have only attended the events organized in the state of NY, mostly by an agenda item, among other minor things, but to each of the events that I have attended I have found the same result: 

Sorcerers, magician shamans, and sorcerers with real trajectories, mixed with the common sorcerer, the sorcerer of the city, the apprentice who is entering this unknown world.World-renowned authors, many of whom we read in our early years in witchcraft and renowned as Judika Illes and Christopher Penczak, among many others who slip into these events to approach you and hold workshops, in addition, who does not want the opportunity to have signed a book of your favorite author?.

Believers and practitioners of all the diverse pagan and neopagan currents (Asatru, Wicca, Druids, sorcerers, etc ...) Mixed in complete harmony, interrelating, talking, attending together the workshops achieving a peaceful coexistence, thus demonstrating that all this war "who is better than who" and "who has the most beautiful altar" is only a vague idea that exists in the virtual world, but at the moment of truth, we are all part of something bigger than ourselves and that attracts us to these places to realize that if we are part of a huge pagan family that has not stopped growing.

Although I miss those times of going to the esoteric books section of the library, subscribe to the mailing lists of publishers waiting for their extensive catalogs of books to order the newest in the genre, although it was exciting to organize these forums of skype and yahoo where we saw each other's faces, I must admit that now the internet is available to everyone.

The internet makes us realize how big we are as a community, now we can participate in huge virtual forums of conversation, follow our favorite authors (and not to show off but now I'm even friends with several of mine on facebook), and keeps us abreast of the esoteric or spiritual events and organizations that interest us the most.

Likewise, and like the same magic, the internet has its respective pros and cons, is full of trolls, haters, pretty ridiculous memes and fake people with fake names and fake photos with which you must be very careful, in addition the internet unfortunately It supports and promotes piracy in large part, I had to leave several Facebook groups when I noticed that they were uploading files full of books by my favorite authors, at that time I was writing my first book for a small print shop In Venezuela, he was also working for the publishing company Circulo de Lectores de Venezuela, a company that literally sank with the rise of piracy and left a total of 3,500 people unemployed throughout the country.

Who does not miss those long Yahoo mailing lists, where people really wrote, and shared very broad thoughts and reflections, was something made for those who really like to read and study, many times I even print them, because Many of these emails that revolved around a common theme were almost books full of information that went through the filters of many people, and they were gold.

Now in the social networks are saturated with information, much of it information that you do not need, to the point of being overwhelming, and all this without mentioning that in social networks we limit ourselves (because if the post is very broad nobody reads it and nobody shares it) so you have to limit yourself to writing the whole idea in less than 200 characters.

Another problem that brings the internet to the pagan community, is that we find all these bookstore sorcerers, who have read a couple of books and believe they know everything, I have often encountered trolls that harass me on the internet trying to "correct my work" because it does not go with one or two books that they have read.

For example there is a lot with the subject of rituals and spells, you can perform hundreds of spells, and you can do them very well, and have the results you want, but there is always an egocentric to correct you, just to show you "how much they know "in theory, and not so much in practice.

Because to identify an herb, that anyone does based on photos and books, but go to cut the grass personally, dry it in your house and use it for your own spells, that's practice, and in social media times, that practice is worth gold, but not for those who follow you on social networks, but for you.

Yes, it is true that the internet has unfortunately given more power to haters and trolls, and now many people also write in a blog without knowing what they are talking about, so everything we find on the internet must be swallowed with an extra granite of salt, even now it is quite normal to meet people who come to chat with you at 5 am to evangelize and tell you that you worship the devil, understand, "why to bother going to knock on your door on a Saturday morning, being able to just open your chat window to bother you from the comfort of your home?".

Let's not forget that social networks also give us that positive look, that touch of positivism that we study so much in marketing, that "like", that "comment" that tells you that you are doing something right, that makes you believe that you are on the way correct, and that puts you in the same box of those pink characters who do whatever it is for the "like", the problem when people get used to it, when "like", that positive reinforcement you receive, is more important that the content you share, is the problem there, when people get so used to giving everything for that like, and without realizing it, they stop contributing real good material, just because they are focused on the likes, because many times the ego only he asks for more positive reinforcements.

But also the internet has allowed us to form huge discussion groups, these groups where some 5 thousand people are added but only 50 participate, but those fifty people are worth gold, and for those fifty people who are now only a click away, it is worth keeping our presence on the internet, to share the links of our favorite books, to invite others like us to these events of pagan celebrations in our country, and even to chat and share the details and experiences of our spells.

But as I always write, as long as you are light, as long as you know how to shine, no matter how dark the cave you enter, you can be light and illuminate the path to others who come after you.

With Love & Respect

Elhoim Leafar

[ciestess]

Chocolate Blood

"ok how about this for a oneshot: durarara au where izaya is secretly a vampire w an aphrodisiac bite and the reader is a struggling journalist trying to write an article about him, being one of the most powerful men in ikebukuro, but runs into him while she’s digging up info" - @deneuves on Tumblr

*snap*

You let the piece of dark chocolate melt in your mouth, then continue your death-march through the irritatingly busy nighttime Shinjuku. You thought the flood of romance and couples-themes was supposed to be during Christmas! … Well. At least these times of year came with one perk -- discount sweets. You stick the last of your dark chocolate bar in your mouth and turn down the alley to meet your source.

You would be… well, NOT here, if it weren’t for your boss requesting you to write an article on the “strongest men in Ikebukuro.” But, with no explanation of what “strongest” meant, (and you being more than a little bitter at your boss for making you do most of the research over the holidays), you decided to define it as “influential.”

You’d been interviewing and researching all types of people for the past few weeks, and one name kept coming up -- in any tone of voice from annoyed to completely and utterly terrified. But every single person agreed on one thing when you tried to dig for more information: “You’re better off staying away from him.” But that wasn’t your job, and this was finally making this outrageous assignment interesting. And, after a bit more online research, you were contacted by an anonymous source to meet at this location for an interview.

… Which is why you’re carrying pepper spray and a pocket knife right now, with instructions left to every person you knew to take turns texting you every half-hour and, if you didn’t respond with a codeword, to call the police. Because, while being a bold and driven journalist, you weren’t an idiot, and knew you were probably walking into a trap. But this was still the most fun you’d had since you started with this company.

…

You had been waiting for a while before he showed up. “Sorry about that. I ran into an… acquaintance of mine on the way here.” By “acquaintance” you assume he means enemy, because he has scrapes and tears all over him. “Hello,” he gives a small bow, “I heard you were researching me~”

You freeze. You had kind of expected something like this, but you didn’t think he’d show up in person…! And… WHY had no one warned you he was hot!? To say you were flustered was an understatement, but- But that NEVER happened to you! Yes, he is attractive, but you had interviewed -- had BEEN interviewing plenty more-attractive people than him before now!

Even as you’re freaking out, your mind is racing -- something is going on here. You had never reacted like this to anyone before, so why now? Unfortunately, Izaya is not kind enough to let you work through your confusion. “Heheh, now, now~. You don’t need to worry~. I’m flattered, actually~!”

Your heart stops racing, and your breathing slows. But your mind doesn’t: ‘His voice…?’ “I assume you have some questions, Journalist-san~?” Your mind starts clouding even as you pull out your pad and pen. “Um- Yes. What is it you do for a living, Mister Orihara?” As he answers, he steps closer. “Oh, surely you’ve figured out that much, heheh~! I’m an informant~!”

You stand your ground and make a note. Your vision is blurring. Something… something’s wrong. “How did you gain such influence in Ikebukuro?” He’s right next to you now. Your hand holding the pen starts reaching for the pepper spray. “Well, I’m good at my job, of course~” His voice is a whisper now, and he leans into your ear. Your heart is racing again. He sniffs lightly, “You smell bitter… Dark chocolate, maybe~?” He leans even closer, “I don’t much like sweets, so this is a pleasant surprise!~ Who’d have thought I, of all people, would get chocolate on Valentine’s Day~?”

Your hand -- your whole body -- doesn’t want to move, but you force it. And your aim is perfect. Izaya recoils a little from the shock, but recovers quickly. But it’s too late. You’ve broken his spell. “Pepper spray, huh? Journalist-chan is smart~!” You’re about to run when you finally notice his eyes.

You’ll curse yourself later for taking so long to notice, but with the dark lighting, you’re hardly to blame. His eyes glow a dark red as he gazes at you hungrily, impressed. “Vampire… dammit!” With the spray being useless now, you pull out your knife. “Mm?” Now’s about when you should make some threat to get him to let you go… If you could think of one! How exactly were you supposed to threaten a vampire!?!!

Izaya smirks at you, amused. The two of you face each other for a few moments, until, “... Perhaps we could make a deal, Journalist-chan~?” “... What?” “I’ll answer all of your questions. In exchange… well, you’re smart.”

“...” A few more minutes. That’s all you had to last before your phone would buzz, and the police would come. “... Alright.” And he does. Too quickly. Impressively quickly. He had come prepared. You still have five minutes left, but no questions left to stall with, DAMMIT! “Well…?”

… Five minutes. … He’d get caught within five minutes… Right? Not that you had a choice at this point. You hold out your wrist, and he thanks you. You expected it to hurt, but…

Your head is getting foggy again. Why, oh WHY had you never studied vampires?! You KNEW they existed, so WHY?!?! But you can’t keep the anger up. He licks the bite clean, and it heals immediately. But then he bites again, near your elbow. You would protest, but… It feels… Good. And he isn’t draining that much. He’s barely sucking at all, just leaving his fangs in one spot for a few seconds, then moving higher, and higher, until…

His lips meet yours as he bites, lightly, gently, into your bottom lip. He nibbles a few times, then to his surprise-- You bite him back! He pulls away for a second, looking at you. You grin, and he smirks, continuing the strange kiss. ‘To hell with it,’ you think in your daze. ‘I mean, the point IS to keep him here until the police come!’ you tell yourself.

You surprise him again when you pin HIM to the wall of the alley, but he doesn’t protest. If anything, he seems to like it. Well… you doubted this happened to him often, him not being in control… Eventually he starts traveling down again, stopping at your neck. And, finally, does what you expected: He bites into your jugular.

And you black out.

All you’d be able to remember after that is typing into your phone, and a whisper, “Thank you for the Valentine’s Day gift~!” before waking up in the deserted alley to the feeling of your phone buzzing in your pocket… And your codeword sent half an hour ago.

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AO3 version

OSWs Master List

{This is part of my “OneShot Wednesday” project - I’m trying to write a one-shot every week that other people have requested! Original Requests one week, and Fanfic Requests the next.

To vote for the next OSW, go to my Tumblr, Twitter, or Website to find the current poll!

While I will try to keep track of all the requests I receive regardless of how they’re sent, you should send Fanfic Requests through the pinned tweet on my Twitter, and Original Requests through either my email (CiestessDE@gmail.com) or my Patreon (if you’re a patron) if you want to make sure I see them.

Just about everything goes -- I’ll tell you if there’s a problem. But if you want to know more about how they work, you can read about Original OSWs here, and Fanfic OSWs here.

So please send me ALL the ideas!!! I will make sure to recognize whoever’s idea/request it was in the work – just ask if you want to remain anonymous.}